


Words Left Unspoken

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Camaraderie, Canon-Typical Violence, Disturbing Themes, Divorce, Drunkenness, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Friendship, Graphic Description, Hanahaki Disease, Heart Flower AU, Illnesses, Near Death Experiences, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Hatake Kakashi/Yamato | Tenzou - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Possible Character Death, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden, Rokudaime Hatake Kakashi, Sexual Content, Temporary Character Death, Triggers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29153415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: It'll go, he reassures Iruka, as he pops an anti-histamine tablet with the home cooked dinner that he reminds himself, once more, to not get used to. It's just a tickle at the back of my throat, he adds, trying to placate the worried look on Iruka's face.Until one day, the coughing just doesn't stop. The coughing seems to have caused something wedge somewhere in his throat and suddenly Tenzou can't breathe. Fuck, he can't breathe, as he grabs the edge of the dinner table and suffocates, rattling bowls, and plates, and their tea cups, chopsticks crashing to the ground, unable to quite cough, unable to speak, unable to verbally say that he needs to get to the hospital. When all he can do is scramble at Iruka's shoulders, grasp at him, pleading for help, staring at the panic and words he can't hear leaving Iruka's lips.Until that is, Tenzou violentlycoughsagain, and again and right there, in the middle of the tiled floor from where both he and his accidental spouse is kneeling, Tenzou reaches into his throat to pull out and gag a large, bunched up,  whole red daisy, petals crumpled up together in sticky, coppery syrup that falls wetly, loudly on the clean tile floor.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi & Yamato | Tenzou, Hatake Kakashi/Yamato | Tenzou, Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 49
Kudos: 50
Collections: Theme Of The Month Events





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Written for the Discord: Tenzou's Cabin monthly event prompt, Words Left Unspoken.
> 
> Please mind the tags.
> 
> Setting ~~or at least how the fic starts~~ loosely inspired from the [KakaIru fic Honest When It Rains.](https://archiveofourown.org/series/985242)

Tenzou doesn’t wake up quietly, with a soft intake of measured breath but loudly, where he _jolts_ at the sound of a rickshaw passing by the street, making him snap to awareness only to instantly regret it, eyes scrunching shut tightly, chin tipping away sharply away from the pouring afternoon sunshine through the parted drapes of the floor to ceiling windows.

There is an ache in his skull that ebbs and flows like a tide, the sandy shores remaining in the form of a throbbing pain that doesn’t at all wash away. He gets it, hilariously, darkly, as he tries to adjust his eyesight to the surroundings of what looks like a lavish hotel room, why they call it a hangover. He can’t even remember when was the last time he had nursed a hangover quite like this. He doesn’t make it a habit to get black-out drunk, after all. It feels as if the stormiest of clouds are lingering over his head, weighing him down on the soft foreign pillow, with absolutely no intention of clearing till what probably, exaggeratedly, feels like next year.

Tenzou’s stomach turns dangerously as he moves ever so slightly, making him flinch as he cautiously pushes himself up on his elbows. That is when he notices the second presence in the room.

Or rather, on the bed.

Warm and naked, long dark brown hair spilling over a scarred back, fanning on a pillow, the slender slope of his spine disappearing under the rumpled sheets that does very little to cover the stranger’s modesty.

Tenzou doesn’t recognize the person, or that back.

But he recognizes the sudden warning lurch in his gut, triggering his gag reflex.

Tenzou is up and looking around frantically, spotting the only door available which thankfully, reveals itself to be the connecting bathroom. He is kneeling by the toilet in seconds, the clack of the lid being shoved open and up echoing in the confines of the tiled room, making him wince as he all but empties his guts into the toilet, his entire body breaking out into cold sweat as he heaves, and heaves, hot acid that must have been all the alcohol he had recklessly consumed the night before leaving him in a stream of burning orange, leaving his throat raw, his eyes teary and bloodshot.

Gods, what was he thinking? What was he even daring to accomplish by drinking this much?

Tenzou can’t find the rationale behind the brash judgment call to down this much alcohol. He can’t even remember the last time he had a hangover. Likely never.

Tenzou feels around and above for the flush button, pressing it and letting the smell of bile and stomach acid wash away, feeling monumentally better after having expunged the contents of his stomach. He presses his cheek against the cool rim of the toilet seat, closing his eyes for a second, the comfort of the cold plastic a balm against the heat of his sweaty cheek. He remains there, just breathing and trying to clear the fog in his mind. Until he gets shoved backwards rather harshly, dismissively, by what seems to be a desperate hand.

And then Tenzou is flinching once more, turning his head away from the onslaught of retching sounds leaving the slender man who is now kneeling by the toilet, emptying the contents of his guts as well.

Gods, the smell is awful.

How irresponsible of them to allow themselves to get like this.

Tenzou grumbles a low curse at the back of his throat, pushing himself away from the toilet seat and grabbing one of the towels hanging from the hamper, all but dragging himself to an upright position by the sink where he turns on the tap, secures the towel around his naked waist and proceeds to splash cold water all over his face and neck. He tears through the disposable toiletries provided, finding a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste, something he all but squeezes into his mouth and proceeds to scrub that gods awful acidic taste away.

The sound of the flush and Tenzou spitting toothpaste into the sink fills the small space, as does a pained groan.

This is where Tenzou turns.

And sees the person kneeling naked by the toilet seat, hair hanging down a flushed, ashy face, the scar cutting across the bridge of his nose almost as white as the bathroom tiles.

Tenzou has to blink several times, his jaw hanging open in surprise. Or perhaps shock. It mirrors the exact expression Umino Iruka is wearing because suddenly, Iruka’s face is awash with crimson, heated embarrassment making him reach out of the other towel hanging on the hamper, as he stands up shakily and covers up his modesty.

Which does nothing, if Tenzou is being honest.

It doesn’t exactly cover the shadows all over Iruka’s hip, the crimson marks that blooms like wild camellias all over Iruka’s neck, shoulders and chest. It doesn’t hide the hideous bluish tinge of what looks like – probably – Tenzou’s fingers around both of Iruka’s wrist. It certainly does nothing to hide what looks like dried cum on Iruka's chest.

“Y-Yamato-san,” Iruka says, eyes wide, jaw wider, something that he clacks shut and flinches because it must have triggered a wave of miserable hangover migraine. Iruka’s hand snaps out, gripping the wall to steady himself, probably to abate the wave of nausea at the sudden movement.

“Iruka-san,” Tenzou murmurs, a little breathless, averting his gaze as a bit of heat dusts over his cheeks. Judging by their current situation, the fact that they shared a bed, it’s not hard to conclude what must have happened the night before. “Did we…”

“I…” Iruka brushes his hair back, gathering the long locks to one side of his shoulder, fingers twiddling with the ends as he takes a tentative step back, closer to the open doorway. “I think so. I – well – I think perhaps, you came in my ass. I mean it’s… well…”

“ _Oh_ …” Tenzou swallows, and watches the flush darken on Iruka’s cheeks, his gaze kept trained to the ground, upper teeth coming down to worry over his bottom lip. Tenzou _snaps_ his gaze away from where it had fallen on Iruka’s towel covered crotch, as if staring past the towel will reveal the trickle of cum that must be, probably, dripping out of Iruka’s ass right now.

Well, it figures.

Tenzou gives Iruka another slightly more curious cursory glance and well, he’s not exactly surprised his drunken self would choose to fuck the body before him.

Iruka isn’t exactly displeasing to the eye, objectively speaking. Iruka is pretty. Beautiful, even.

Judging by the marks on his body, Tenzou’s drunken self seemed to have enthusiastically agreed to the same conclusion.

“I… don’t remember… I mean…” Tenzou clears his throat, drawing a blank for the umpteenth time as he tries to recall anything from the night before. He clears his throat behind a fist, the heat brushing down the column of his neck as he all but looks at everywhere, except Iruka. “Sorry.”

“I don’t remember getting here, or you or – ah, Yamato-san…” Iruka sounds distraught, perhaps even ashamed. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too…”

They look at each other for a long time, embarrassment and apology painted all over their faces. It paves the way to silent understanding, Tenzou’s lips mirroring the bemused smile that tugs over Iruka’s features, a dimple hollowing in the process.

“I’ll use the shower after you, if you wish to go first,” Tenzou offers. It seems fair, given that out of the two of them, Tenzou is the one who is least bruised and filthy, so to speak.

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” Iruka says, his expression quite grateful.

*

Tenzou finds discarded, open but unused condoms on the floor, along with articles of their clothing from the night before. After downing two small bottles of water, Tenzou proceeds to segregate his shirt and pants from Iruka’s, keeping them in neat clear piles on either side of the bed and throwing away those condoms. Yesterday had been the celebratory party for Kakashi’s inauguration as Hokage, thrown and organized by Gai and a few other jounins. Tenzou remembers having some food, remembers some sort of eating challenge involving Gai and Kakashi and then some karaoke.

He remembers singing his favorite song. And a duet with Anko after she had insisted rather loudly.

So two songs.

Past that, things begin to get muddled.

Tenzou remembers shooters, a few shots, a few beers and that had been it.

He is seated by the window, cradling his head, the heels of his palms applying pressure into his eye sockets to push away the dull throb, keep it at bay, when Iruka steps out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe.

“Feel better?” Tenzou asks, lowering his hands and going still at the sight of Iruka patting his hair dry gently.

“Much better,” Iruka responds, seating himself on the edge of the bed, his spine and shoulders drooping to a bit of a dejected curve before he sighs and starts running the plastic disposable comb through the edges of his long hair. “Thank you for letting me go first.”

“No problem, I –“ Tenzou clears his throat, heat crawling up his neck once more. “I found a few unused and open condoms. It seems that I may have tried to use it but gave up half way.”

Iruka’s lips curve to a bit of a smile, not quite warm but not quite distant either. “I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless,”

“Are you hurt?” Tenzou asks, standing from his seat, gripping the edge and fold of the towel around his hip.

“A little raw but not unpleasantly so,” Iruka says, his neck suddenly awash in red. “I’d go as far as saying that it feels pleasant, good, if it weren’t for the hangover. And the fact that I remember nothing, so…”

Tenzou looks away at that, his ears burning. He can’t help but agree with the statement.

It’s when he finds himself staring at Iruka once more, at the obvious teeth and finger marks around his neck and shoulders does he clear his throat and nod, remembering that he shouldn’t so openly stare at his handiwork, so shamelessly too, like he had any right to claim Iruka as his.

“I’m sure it’ll come back to us somehow, memories of last night that is,” Tenzou softly says. “Give it time.” He jerks a thumb at the bathroom and starts walking backwards towards it. “I’m just going to—“

Tenzou jolts when he backs into the door frame, flustered and a little embarrassed, like he’s some sort of Academy student and not at all aware of his surroundings. Iruka is smiling at him a little bemusedly, but not unkindly, nodding and waving a hand, telling Tenzou to take his time, that he’ll inform the desk about their late check out.

*

By the time Tenzou manages to wash off the smell of sex, sweat, alcohol and whatever the hell else off his body, dresses and present himself and Iruka at the check-out desk with their keys, he learns that the honeymoon suite had been signed in with his name.

That it is his signature on the payment.

That he had forked over the cash the previous night alongside a generous tip. There are charges for champagne, cocktails and a cake.

All of which Tenzou had found no traces of in the room.

Asking where and how and why he’s being charged for something he doesn’t remember seems moot so he simply forks over whatever else needs to be paid, silencing Iruka’s protest with a gentle touch to his shoulder.

Minutes later, they are outside in the cool, spring afternoon air, Tenzou tucking the receipts into his pocket and trying to fight off the blush from his face without any succession.

“How do you feel?” Tenzou asks.

“Better. It was probably a good thing to…” Iruka gesticulates with his hand, motioning a vomiting gesture. “I’m better, thank you for asking.”

“Good,” Tenzou murmurs, rubbing the back of his head with a palm, unsure of how to part ways with the man that you seemingly fucked through and through but doesn't remember. “Do I – may I walk you home, or something?”

Iruka’s smile is a little wider, a little warmer but not at all poking fun. “I appreciate it Yamato-san, but you don’t have to. We can part here. Although, I’d appreciate any information you can share about the night before should you remember anything, perhaps?”

“Absolutely!” Tenzou nods agreeably. “I’ll come find you, if anything, Iruka-san.”

“Likewise.” Iruka nods, tilting his head to his right side, indicating the road he plans to take. “Well, I guess, bye for now then, Yamato-san. Don't forget to take plenty of liquids for the rest of the day!”

Tenzou lifts a hand up in a wave, nodding as Iruka turns and starts walking away, his slender, lean back disappearing behind a passing rickshaw, where Iruka ducks into one of the main streets. Tenzou doesn’t start walking back to his apartment until Iruka disappears from his sight completely.

*

Something is off.

Something is certainly odd.

Iruka returns to the Academy and finds a few large and gaudy flower arrangements on his desk and a stack of what looks like congratulatory cards. The arrangement is a vibrancy of living and every-giving earth, bright hues and the sweetest of aromas. Orchids, lilies and roses are amongst the few of the flowers that Iruka recognizes, as he sets his satchel on his chair with utmost confusion and picks up the card from the arrangement.

**_Wishing you a lifetime of happiness._ **

Another one reads:

**_Wishing you and your new life ahead all the best!_ **

Another card says:

**_We are so happy for you! It’s about time!_ **

Frowning, Iruka sets down cards with a bit of a twitch, grabbing the pile of cards on the desk and tearing through them one by one. Some are accompanied by gift vouchers to spend at the local home furnishing store, dinner vouchers, a couple’s massage voucher and a grocery voucher.

Each of the card expresses heart felt wishes from his Academy colleagues, including the current headmaster.

Each card Iruka sets down makes his stomach knot in trepidation and confusion because why are his colleagues sending him well wishes when the last he checked, he isn’t married.

He doesn’t even have a lover.

He hasn’t had a serious one for several years.

Not since Mizuki anyway.

Iruka stares at the last card from Ebisu, who apparently, has purchased a microwave for him, something that he can collect from the local electronics store at any time.

Oh _gods_.

The Academy bell ringing makes Iruka gather all the cards, shoving them into his drawer and sending a clone away with all the flower arrangements, out of sight, out of mind and definitely out of his children’s curiosity.

He’ll have to deal with it later.

*

Later, apparently, during lunch, as Iruka herds the last of the children out into the playground, he turns and comes face to face with an ANBU, who has chosen that moment to appear by his classroom’s open door way, a vase of what looks like edible arrangements of cut fruits in the shape of flowers held between clawed, gloved hands.

Iruka finds himself staring mutely, when the ANBU, female, he recognizes from the tenor of her voice, thrusts the arrangement in his direction.

“My best wishes to you and Taichou, Iruka-san,” she says, her voice soft, muffled by what looks like some sort of bird painted on her porcelain mask. “I hope you two will be very happy.”

Iruka finds himself with a handful of edible arrangements, staring mutely at it with his jaw wide open. One moment, he’s looking at the flower shaped cut-out of a pineapple under the cellophane wrap. The next he’s looking up with questions forming at the tip of his tongue, to tell this ANBU that she must be mistaken. She must have the wrong teacher. He is not hitched with any ANBU taichou that he knows of. He isn’t hitched with anyone at all.

But the ANBU is gone, leaving Iruka to set down the suddenly weighty arrangement on his desk, staring at it as he reaches up for the knot of his ponytail, all the more confused and now just mildly alarmed because this isn’t funny.

It is farthest thing from funny.

He had been willing to let the whole colleagues-wishing-him-well go, dismiss it at as elaborate prank organized by his friends because they aren’t quite above that. Izumo and Kotetsu has at least one practical joke per year that they make it a point to inflict upon Iruka’s miserable ass; Iruka had just assumed that this must be it.

To have ANBU involved though?

Iruka frowns at the edible arrangements.

Maybe it’s just a one-time thing. Maybe Izumo and Kotetsu helped someone at the border during gate duty and got them on board for the prank.

Seemingly pacified by the reasoning, Iruka picks up the edible arrangement, tears the cellphone apart, shoves the card into his drawer and carries the rest of it to the teachers’ lounge to share.

It is, after all, a very big and generous arrangement of fruit.

*

Except by the end of the day, as Iruka erases the material he has written on the board, the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly rises on edge, alerting of him of a sudden muted presence that slows the sweep of the chalkboard eraser. Iruka looks over his shoulder to find two masked ANBU standing there, both of them holding something in their hands.

The tall, broad chested masked ANBU with a thatch of messy brown hair is the first to break the silence, his boots barely making a sound as he approaches Iruka’s desk and sets down what looks like an expensive box of chocolates and a card.

The other ANBU, with a different painted porcelain mask is narrower, leaner and with blond hair also steps forward to set down a beautiful vase with an equally dazzling flower arrangement of lilies and orchids, vibrant in its color and quite large in its blooms.

Neither ANBU seemed to have cut corners in their expenditure for both gifts. Iruka in fact recognizes that chocolatier and the logo on the vase to be one of the pricier and more exclusive stores on Tea Avenue.

To say that Iruka is stunned would be an understatement.

To say that he is annoyed at this point, would be an even bigger understatement.

Iruka sets the blackboard eraser down sharply, turning to face both ANBU, questions ready at the tip of his tongue.

“We wish you and taichou the very best, Iruka-san,” the blond ANBU says, dipping his chin in a cursory show of politeness, beating Iruka with his statement, effectively making Iruka choke on the words that he had been ready, just seconds ago to let loose.

“We’ve been telling taichou that it’s about time he found someone special. We are pleased to know that he has secured one of Konoha’s finest as a partner,” the broad-chested ANBU says, reaching back to rub the back of his head. “I was getting worried there for a second.”

Iruka opens his mouth to ask just who the hell is this _taichou_ and just how much or what is Izumo and Kotetsu bribing these ANBU with?

“I – I think you have the wrong idea,” Iruka says, almost desperate.

“Don’t worry, Iruka-san,” the blond ANBU says, and from within the holes of his mask, Iruka catches him winking. “ANBU is good at safe-guarding secrets.”

“We’ll try to convince taichou to take some time off. You only honeymoon once, is what I say,” broad-chested ANBU says, before he erupts to a sudden burst of hearty laughter that makes all the color on Iruka’s face plummet to the ground.

Before Iruka can say anything else, the two ANBU vanishes with a wave of their hand, leaving him there to stomp his feet in frustration and hunt down two of his friends to give them a piece of his mind.

*

“Now I _know_ you two take pride in the little details, which is something I am very proud of and admire whenever you two knuckleheads decide to put your heads together to prank me but involving ANBU? _Have you lost your mind_?” Iruka _snaps_ , right there on the gate post, way above the ground, his voice cutting through the silence of Konoha’s forest, making a few sparrows, pigeons and other wild birds take flight to the sky.

Izumo and Kotetsu, however, are having none of it.

“What the hell are you getting mad for? We should be mad at you! We had to hear it from Tonbo! Why does Tonbo know and not _us_ , Iruka?” Kotetsu slaps Iruka’s hands from where it’s gripping his collar. “Let go!”

“What are you _on_ —“  
  
Izumo also slaps Iruka’s hand away as well, freeing his collar free from Iruka’s vice and white knuckled grip. “You said you weren’t getting married ever, after Mizuki. But come the Rokudaime’s inauguration after-party, you decide to tie the knot. I didn’t know you even liked _him_. You certainly never expressed any interest—“

“ _Who?_ ” Iruka cries out, having had enough of this mysterious spouse that he is apparently married to. Someone he apparently had shown no interest in.

“Yeah, right.” Kotetsu rolls his eyes. “Fuck off, Iruka. A great friend you are.”

“I am serious!” Iruka reasons, gripping his ponytail in frustration. “Guys, drop it. You win, hands down the best prank ever—

“We’re not pranking you,” Izumo says slowly, carefully lowering himself back to his chair. “I mean we’re planning to, sure, but that’s not happening anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” Kotetsu scoffs. “Maybe you should drop the act, huh?”

“I have had everyone in Academy give me vouchers, flowers and cards. Ebisu got me a _microwave!_ The good kind! You know he’s not the type but he did! I’ve had not one, not two, but _three ANBU_ come to me _personally_ to deliver their best wishes and presents. Edible arrangements, a very expensive flower arrangement, oh, and chocolates!” Iruka yanks his satchel open and tosses the chocolate box at Kotetsu’s lap.

“Ohhh, nice!” Kotetsu grins, his fingers ripping the cellophane and ribbon wrapping free to pop the box open. Almost immediately, the aroma of freshly crafted chocolate hits their noses. Kotestu is already popping whole one into his mouth when he notices Iruka _glaring_ at him. “What? It was given to you. Were you going to throw it away or something?”

“That is not the point!” Iruka snaps, punctuating the statement with a bit of a huff, but then giving up and reaching out for one of the chocolates, stuffing it into his mouth. Iruka forgets, for just a few seconds, that he is supposed to be investigating the origin of his current bane of existence, as silky, almost buttery chocolate melts and coats his tongue with divine goodness. “It’s good – very good, actually.”

“No wonder it’s so expensive,” Izumo grumbles, one side of his cheek puffed out as he chews on a chocolate.

“Guys, I woke up shit faced drunk in a hotel suite with Yamato-san and—“ Iruka stops talking, his jaw clacking shut so hard that it makes spots appear in the corners of his eyes.

His friends looking up at him with a look torn between genuine concern, confusion and a pointed look all rolled into one is the proverbial final nail to his coffin.

Iruka staggers a step back, shaking his head, blinking repeatedly because taichou – Yamato-taichou, Naruto used to call him. Still does, in fact. Yamato must be former ANBU then or maybe he’s been reinstated to his former rank balance to Konoha’s efforts in restoring the village's depleted forces after the great war. Iruka knows for a fact that a lot of retired ANBU has been pulled back to the ranks temporarily to fill a gap that’s been left far too empty and wide in their ranks. Iruka also knows that Konoha has relaxed their rules somewhat in an attempt to increase their jounin and chuunin ranks, because the death toll had been far too great.

The funerals aren’t even over and it’s been six months since most of Konoha’s citizens have returned to a semi-functioning and rebuilt village.

“But I don’t know him!” Iruka suddenly bursts, his chest heaving, heart thundering under his ribcage in the wake of the sudden silence of his friends.

Both of whom are never, ever silent if they’re in on a joke at Iruka’s expense.

Panic begins like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen, as tension begins to grow all over his face, his limbs, his mind going back to the morning-after of waking up naked right next to Team 7’s current commander, and throwing up with himself shamelessly naked on the bathroom floor. Iruka’s breathing starts to come out rapidly, more shallow, like some sort of personal hurricane swirling uncontrollably in his lungs as he opens and closes his mouth, trying to form words, trying to say something coherent to address this obvious misinformation. Iruka’s friends remain silent through out, alarm glimmering in their gaze as Kotetsu carefully sets aside the open box of chocolate, rising to his feet and grasp Iruka by the shoulders carefully, gently.

Except Iruka shakes his head and takes a step back, one after another until his back collides with the edge of the wooden parapet of the guard’s gate post.

“Why would I marry someone I don’t know?” Iruka finally chokes out, horror on his face.

Izumo and Kotetsu exchange looks helplessly, not quite sure how to answer.

“I’m sure it must be a false rumor,” Izumo offers, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “You know how out of hand rumors can get within the village. And at a place like the Rokudaime’s inauguration after-party, it’s the perfect ground zero for such rumors to get out of hand.”

“Look, why don’t you go check registry? They’re still open for another hour. That ought to clarify everything, right?” Kotetsu gives Iruka’s shoulder a bit of a comforting and reassuring squeeze. “Calm down.”

Iruka tries to.

He really does.

*

Except a visit to the registry office proves to be Iruka's worst nightmare.

There, on the Umino scroll is his name and seal signed, stamped on the eve of the Rokudaime’s after-party, with a name that doesn’t read as ‘Yamato’ but as ‘Tenzou’. Tenzou, whose alias is currently listed as Yamato has his shinobi registry number printed in neat blocks right next to his signature and seal.

Iruka doesn’t realize how his hands are shaking as he stares at the scroll, barely hearing the clerk telling him that the office is about to close soon, that he better get going.

Iruka makes a request for a copy, uncaring that it makes the clerk who is eager to leave for the day huff and stomp at a last minute request, as he stands there, his stomach dissolving like it’s been doused in acid, seeping into the earth as he realizes what a mess this will be. How irresponsible it is for someone of his rank, his station, to get into a drunken-marriage of all things!

Frustrated and more than a little disgusted at himself, Iruka takes the copy and proceeds to march for the Hokage tower to send out a messenger hawk to Tenzou.

*

Tenzou returns that afternoon to deliver his mission report after a quick mission to Land of Waves to the Rokudaime. The flutter of the messenger hawk overhead makes him look up, stopping at the rooftop of the Hokage tower, frowning as the bird sweeps down and perches on his arm guard.

Tenzou unclips the message from the hawk’s feet, raises his arm and sets it free, just as he unrolls the message and sees Iruka’s neat block writing.

_**We have to meet and talk immediately. This is my address; please come as soon as you can.** _

Tenzou stares at the message, unable to stop the puzzled cock of his eyebrow from under the porcelain mask. Tucking the message into his pocket, Tenzou drops down and through the foundations of the Hokage tower, making his presence known to the Rokudaime until he hears Kakashi call his name out.

Tenzou steps out of the shadows then, past the filing cabinet, his feet silent as if they’re not touching the floor as he makes his way towards Kakashi’s desk. Here, he holds out his mission report; a success, nothing out of the ordinary. This is all protocol now.

Kakashi gives it a cursory read, hums and stamps it with his seal, before he drops it onto a plastic box of scrolls to be given to one of the clerical chuunin at the end of the day to be filed away.

“This could have waited, you know?” Kakashi deadpans, propping his chin on his palm and giving Tenzou a bit of a bored look. “Sparrow could have done this. Or even Stag. Or Owl since you don’t like him very much.”

“I never said that I didn’t like him, senpai, please don’t put words in my mouth,” Tenzou _sighs_ , reaching up to tug his mask off.

“You gave him a terrible review during his mid-year appraisal,” Kakashi drolls.

“I mentioned that there is room for improvement, which isn’t a lie. That doesn’t constitute as terrible,” Tenzou reasons.

“Maa, I guess what I should be saying is that Iruka-sensei shouldn’t be blaming me for robbing him of his right to a honeymoon with his new spouse,” Kakashi says, punctuating his statement with a shrug. “Congratulations, by the way. I’m happy for you. Didn’t peg you to be the kind to settle down, though, I’ll admit.”

Tenzou isn’t sure if Kakashi is joking or if he’s serious.

The statement that leaves Kakashi’s mouth makes absolutely not a lick of sense because Tenzou doesn’t a have a clue what Kakashi is _on_ about.

“What?” Tenzou asks, his voice coming out a little curt, a little stiff at having being caught off guard.

“Do you want some time off? I can give you a week,” Kakashi looks at his desk calendar. “It can work if you start tomorrow. Consider it my wedding gift to you~ Make happy, delirious love to your new husband~”

“We are not married,” Tenzou says, sharp, calm, absolutely stead fast in the statement that leaves no room for argument.

Tenzou watches as Kakashi waves a lazy hand in his direction, almost dismissive. “If it was your intention to keep your marriage secret, well, you shouldn't have proposed and officiate the marriage during the after-party. No point hiding it, now. The whole village knows. So, one week? Or would you prefer a week and a half? I can do that for you, my special kouhai~ Ten days sounds good?”

Suddenly the urgency of the message Tenzou received from Iruka makes sense.

It makes the blood roil and toss like wild current of a stormy sea in his veins, making Tenzou stand there rooted, eerily still, as Kakashi all but continually ask him about his honeymoon, about how a day spent at a hotel isn’t enough, that life is short and that he, of all people, should know that men like them, lead dangerous lives. _I’d want you to enjoy this special moment_ , Kakashi says. _I want you to not have regrets_ , Kakashi adds.

Somehow, Tenzou’s tongue has become a useless organ in his mouth.

Somehow, the only thing that he can form is a request to be dismissed, that there’s somewhere he needs to be immediately.

Kakashi giving him a quiet look, a soft look, the kind the belies understanding and genuine happiness that makes everything in Tenzou’s body screech to a grinding halt.

For that is an expression Kakashi doesn’t just toss around so openly. And Tenzou, if anything, has spent years knowing and learning how to read the microscopic expressions on Kakashi's face, mask on or not. He knows Kakashi. If he had been lying, or joking, or something, his jaw would be locked and braced, a tendril of stiffness would line the cut of his shoulders, barely perceptible if one didn't know where to look.

That or this had to be some sort of elaborate fucking joke that Kakashi is in on because it isn’t funny.

Not one bit.

*

Tenzou is standing in front of Iruka’s door, his chakra drawn in tight and compressed, looming like an ominous presence on Iruka’s doormat as he tries to keep calm, tries to not surrender to the confusion, the clear miscommunication that has somehow circulated the village and reached its leader.

Tenzou doesn’t want to know what he’d do or say if he discovers that this is indeed an elaborate joke on Kakashi’s end. This would be going too far, the thinks. He tolerates a lot of Kakashi’s ribbing, teasing, and whatnot if only because he knows it doesn’t come from a place of malice. That if anything, it is simply Kakashi twisted way of showing affection.

ANBU does that, twist men like Kakashi out of shape. Men who, unlike Tenzou, did have a past, has a present and a future.

ANBU destroys men because it is an on-going war. It is in ANBU that the true horrors of humanity’s capability of inflicting violence upon their fellow humans truly shows. Tenzou has lost count as to how many men and women he has seen over the years surrender to the ever ringing screams in their ears, how they’ve caved and sagged under the weight of the bloodshed in their hands, the cries of the innocent suffocating and gurgling the last of their crimson breath as gloved, clawed hands sink into delicate flesh, snapping bone, bringing forth with it an eternal silence that only ever dissolves into a distant ring that gets louder, louder, oh so louder with each kill. Each body. Each breath robbed and cut short.

ANBU is not a place for people who are soft.

If anything, ANBU is not a place for people who wants any attachment to the living.

Which is why, even now after the war, even now after seeing what he truly wants under the spell of eternal tsukiyomi, even now when Tenzou knows that he’s tired of the rot and unending war in the shadows, that he wants what others want, a present, perhaps not much of a future, but at the very least, some sort of here and now in the light. He’s gotten a taste of it, after all, walking amongst the living, being surrounded by team seven, by what remains of Kakashi’s humanity, something that Sandaime had taken pity on when he made the conscious decision all those years ago to honorably discharge Kakashi from ANBU. To save him, perhaps.

But nobody really walks away from ANBU.

Even now, with more awareness and direction, Tenzou doesn’t know how to walk away from it either.

It’s hard to want things for yourself when all you’ve known is the code of living like the current moment may be your last, when it’s been so ingrained into your bones, every cell of your body, your very DNA, that you are nothing but a weapon to serve the village. Perhaps a little lackluster in comparison to the Shodaime, but a weapon nonetheless. That you are nothing but an asset, a soldier, where the only thing you should want is the success of your missions, your village to thrive and your people protected.

To want marriage, to get married, and to someone like Umino Iruka – Tenzou huffs a soft breath through his nose in a mocking gesture at his own thoughts, as he reaches forward to ring the doorbell, ever so slowly releasing his chakra to make his presence known and wrapping his current state of dress to that of what is more recognized as Yamato-taichou.

The henge is completed just as the door pulls open to reveal Iruka’s chalky features. Iruka who looks like he’s been through hell and back, who looks like he’s not sure if he’s welcoming the sight of Tenzou standing at his door step or if he wants to slam his door shut.

“You wanted to see me?” Tenzou says, his face perfectly neutral, void of the tension that continues to brew like a lightnight storm out at sea.

“Yes,” Iruka says, almost breathless, his chest heaving as he opens the door wider, granting Tenzou entry. “Come in.”

Tenzou does.

Only to realize just how much of his footing has been yanked out from under him.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Please heed the tags. Bla bla. Final warning!

Tenzou isn’t sure what to make of the sudden suffocating silence that seemed to have wrapped Iruka’s apartment in an airtight bubble. He watches from where he’s seated on the sofa, as Iruka comes with a tray plated with two cups of tea that rattles unsteadily, even though his hands are white knuckled around the tray handle. Iruka remains pale, as he lowers himself by the coffee table, the cup trembling visibly in his hand as he places it on top of a coaster in front of Tenzou, doing the same for himself. A small plate of dried fruit and nuts is placed in front of Tenzou too – roasted almonds, walnuts, dried apricots.

In the quiet space of the apartment that is far too vibrant in its soft pastel yellow walls, mismatched cushions, trinkets that seemed to have been crafted by small hands lining the shelves amidst books, and photo frames, Tenzou finds himself staring at Iruka, watching his every move, how the lines of his back are drawn inwards, tight, knotted around the length of his spine. The bruises and marks around his neck is darker now, less red and more purple, a lot clearer to the eye when Iruka is dressed in a t-shirt. It wouldn’t be as visible under the chuunin uniform but here, as Iruka picks up his tea cup to take a careful sip, as he looks like he’s trying to organize his thoughts, he looks soft. Vulnerable, even.

But not ugly.

Tenzou blinks at that conclusion, lips pressing down to a thin line as he reaches out for his tea cup, taking a tentative sip.

There is nothing about Iruka right now that is ugly, if he’s being honest. Not the shadows Tenzou has left behind of himself, the clearly wash worn comfortable t-shirt and sweatpants Iruka has on, nor the organized chaos around the apartment. If anything, it’s warm, cozy, so unlike Tenzou’s own living space that is more rigid, structured, almost cold. This has personality, little tidbits of affectionate reminder all over, from students young and probably old, if the photo of Iruka and Naruto on the shelf, the biggest picture of the lot, is anything to go by, the both of them grinning at the camera, arms around each other, their hands thrown up into a peace sign.

It's a nice space.

Fitting for an equally nice person, maybe.

“How have you been?” Tenzou asks after a short sip, setting his tea cup down.

“I’m not sure Yamato-san,” Iruka responds softly, before he turns and picks up a document in a plastic jacket from beside the television stand. He hands it over to Tenzou, waiting for him to take it out and get a good look at the content. “Or should I address you as Tenzou-san?”

The surprise at Iruka knowing his name is mitigated by the copy of the Umino scroll registry Tenzou now holds in his hands, his eyes scanning each line of text over and over again before falling to a dead stare at his seal and signature at the bottom, right next to Iruka’s.

“Tenzou is fine,” Tenzou finally responds, carefully setting the document down, his gaze trailing over Iruka’s still quiet and drawn in expression. “I am guessing you remember nothing?”

“Not a clue,” Iruka sighs, turning his gaze up from where he’s seated in a proper, straight backed seiza position on the rug and floor cushion. “I’m sorry, Tenzou-san.”

Tenzou shakes his head. “It’s not your fault…”

“Nor yours,” Iruka adds, swallowing, a frown now permanently etched between his brows.

“I hope, Iruka-san, that this hasn’t caused any trouble for you and your partner? I mean I – “

“I’m not attached.” Iruka cuts Tenzou off. “I wasn’t going to be. Ever, if I can help it. I guess you can imagine my surprise at this very legally binding change.”

Tenzou goes quiet for a moment, unsure how to proceed at having that kind of bomb dropped on his lap. He’s known his fair share of people who didn’t want the commitment, either borne from an unpleasant experience, or stemming from guilt of all the blood in their hands, or simply because it’s just easier to die and not leave a loved one behind; Tenzou has seen it at all. Being in ANBU has given him that kind of privilege. He didn’t expect, however, for a chuunin who spends majority of his time within the walls of Konoha to want the same. Looking around the small studio apartment once more, Iruka comes off as the kind of person who’d want the attachment, who’d want to be surrounded by warmth, love and affection.

To hear otherwise is strange.

To hear the bitterness and irritation behind it, stranger still.

“Then I believe you and I are on the same page,” Tenzou concludes, making Iruka look up at him. “I’m sure we can rectify this. I’m assuming you are not opposed to a divorce?”

“I’m not but…” Iruka bites his lower lip.

That pause makes Tenzou cock an eyebrow in question. “But?”

“We may encounter a bit of a problem,” Iruka sighs, reaching out for the updated printed copy of the Konoha Shinobi Code of Conduct and Regulations from the small dining table wedged against the wall. “I was looking into it while waiting for you. It wouldn’t have been a problem before the war. But with the new law the council has put forward, something that the Godaime has approved given the current village state after the war, well…”

Tenzou watches Iruka leaf through the clearly marked dog eared pages before Iruka slides the book adjacently on the table, giving Tenzou easy access to read the clearly printed text.

“Look at section 16 (i).” Iruka points. “And 17 (i), (ii) and (iii).” Iruka taps the part that he had circled with a pencil.

Tenzou lowers himself to the rug, his palms flattening out over the open book page that reads:

16\. (i) A shinobi may wed within the village subject to the requirements of mutual consent and prohibitions listed in Section 22 of this Act.

(ii) The shinobi shall file an application, in the manner as prescribed by the ministerial regulations as promulgated by the Konoha Records Division, to update their personal records to ensure that their union is now reflected under proper family class within the Family Registry.

17\. Subject to the amendments as required by Article 63 (i) and (ii) of the Act on Support for Clans and Families (promulgated after the 4th Great Shinobi World War), a shinobi may apply for divorce. Such application shall be reviewed on the following grounds:

(i) substantial proof of continuous or recurring infidelity to the applicant by their partner;

(ii) substantial proof of severe and long-term abuse to the applicant or to registered members of the applicant's household perpetrated by their partner; or

(iii) substantial proof of irreconcilability, under which the applicant(s) must submit in writing proof of the following:

(a) residence within the same accommodation for a minimum of one year;

(b) attendance of monthly conjugal therapy sessions with the signature of the attending physician and a witness; and

(c) statements of character by four individual character witnesses concerning the irreconcilability of the conjugal relationship.

The relevant grounds for approving such application shall be noted in the registry.

Tenzou reads it once. He reads it twice. He reads it several times just as everything in him begins to spin out of control, his body going eerily still as he stares at the text unseeingly in front of him. Iruka’s finger then gently taps the book, where he turns the page and points at another pencil circled text.

18\. Any shinobi found to be falsifying proof as required under Article 17 of this Act shall be subject to a maximum fine of 50,000 ryo, or imprisonment for a maximum period of one year, or both. Any shinobi found to be guilty of continuous falsification shall be subject to a maximum fine of 100,000 ryo, or imprisonment for a maximum period of two years, or both.

“I don’t have that kind of money, Tenzou-san, and even if I could come up with it, I wouldn’t be able teach anymore. They wouldn’t keep a criminal in the Academy…” Iruka says, his words whisper soft, something that makes Tenzou look up and study Iruka’s profile. “I hope you understand, Tenzou-san, that teaching is all I have for myself.”

It goes unsaid that Iruka isn’t willing to commit fraud that may render him in possession of a black spot in probably pristine record. It goes unsaid that Iruka is afraid, nervous, his hands firmly wrapped around his tea cup, knuckles bone white as he presses his lips to what looks like a bit of a jester’s smile. It’s deprecating, not at all like the photo on the shelf of himself with Naruto, where it had been brighter, warmer, and not at all twisted to something hideous like what Tenzou is seeing before him now.

And he understands, the fear that is.

He wouldn’t want to commit a crime willingly either.

“That really only leaves us with section 17 (i). For that to work, we will have to reside in the same house for a period of one year, or less if we can win the case. I’m assuming you’re willing to bring partners home? I’m on active field duty so that can give you plenty of time—“

“But that’s still fraud, Tenzou-san,” Iruka points out. “And there’s still the matter of 16 (ii) (b). You and I will have to be present during these… sessions. I am unsure if it’s true, but if they suspect fraud, we may be subjected to an examination by a Yamanaka. I am not willing to take that risk.”

“What are you willing to risk, Iruka-san?” Tenzou frowns, leaning an elbow on the table. “because it doesn’t sound like a lot.”

“Please do not speak to me that way,” Iruka says, his gaze snapping up to steadily hold Tenzou’s gaze, something sharp gleaming like a gold blade in the depths of his eyes. “You can probably afford the fine. Maybe your rank and title may gain you favors in perhaps earning you a lighter sentence in terms of imprisonment. You are, after all, Mokuton Yamato, an asset to this village. I’m assuming you`re ANBU with the title of taichou if the three visitors I got today are anything to go by. So maybe you don’t stand to lose much. I cannot say it’s the same for me. There’s a reason I’m a teacher and if you take that away then I’m frankly left with nothing. I am sorry, but I cannot— I will _not_ lose my shinobi way over something like _this_. It’s not worth it to me.”

“You’ve just admitted to not wanting to try at all,” Tenzou points out, irritation scratching at his veins, making his fists ball and then consciously relax on the table.

“With all due respect, Tenzou-san, perhaps you are okay with having an infidelity record, but I am not. I won’t have it, I am sorry,” Iruka responds, not at all shying away from Tenzou’s imprisoning gaze. “I don’t know you that well to risk it.”

“Iruka-san, I hardly think having a record for infidelity would matter to you when you’ve just told me that you had no plans, ever, to marry. Those are your words. If you have no plans to marry, it doesn’t matter whether or not the record exists,” Tenzou counters, his gaze narrowing as he watches Iruka swallow something past his throat.

Nervous. Iruka looks nervous and obviously very uncomfortable enough to no longer be able to hide it in Tenzou’s presence.

“It matters when you’re a teacher. If word of this get out—“

“A request to seal your records can be made. The Hokage can grant it—“

Iruka’s hands comes down sharply on the table, rattling the tea cup and plate of snacks loudly, as he stares at the grain of the wood. Tenzou is quiet, his jaw snapping shut in the wake of Iruka’s sudden unleash of anger, the explosive heat and loss of control painting Iruka’s face and neck scarlet, the bruises on his neck darkening under the sudden swath of the heated flush. Tenzou remains still, unintimidated but now more than just a little annoyed at this obvious show of lack of control. This explosiveness from a shinobi that frankly, doesn’t belong anywhere when you don on Konoha`s symbol.

He has to remember that people who aren’t trained in ROOT are like this. Tenzou has to remember that this passion, this lack of fear of showing one’s emotions isn’t at all a weakness but also a strength.

He has to consciously remind himself that this is the man that raised Naruto, who in turn, is the binding glue and strength behind Team 7.

Tenzou has to remember.

It doesn’t make him any less irritated, though.

“I am _not_ a cheat,” Iruka says slowly. “Even in this false union, I will not stoop low or compromise my value for frankly, Tenzou-san, someone like _you_. You are nothing to me. If you are so desperate, well, then you can punch me in the eye and go with section 17 (ii). I can take a beating.”

A sound _tears_ itself past Tenzou’s throat, involuntary, part scoffing at the ludicrous suggestion and part bemused at the fact that Iruka would think that it’s okay to suggest such a thing. Unfounded violence against fellow shinobi has severe repercussions. Tenzou is not about to try to beat Iruka up, not because he’s a law abiding citizen but because Umino Iruka also happens to be Naruto’s father figure, Naruto’s most important person. Tenzou doesn’t see himself being able to, say, punch Iruka in the eye just to get out of something.

(What would Naruto even do to him if he found out that Tenzou dared hurt someone precious to him?)

Tenzou is firm in his response. “No.”

“Why not?” Iruka challenges, almost tartly. “You’ve already marked me before, had your hands all over me before. I do admit to liking it rough. So this shouldn’t be a problem at all.”

The heat rises to the tips of Tenzou’s ears, the wave of the sudden embarrassed and slightly put upon flush painting down his throat, spreading warm and getting hotter on his chest with each tick of a second. Iruka is rather shameless, isn’t he, just throwing rather intimate and private remarks out like that so candidly?

Then again, this is the same man who had Tenzou’s cum dripping out of his ass just no more than two days ago.

“I am not going to risk hurting you, Iruka-san. Willingly at that.” Without realizing, Tenzou crosses his arms across his chest, not willing to compromise on that front.

“Well, what are you willing risk, Tenzou-san, because it doesn’t sound like a lot,” Iruka returns, unashamedly throwing Tenzou’s own words right at his face.

It catches Tenzou off guard, making his lips part slightly in obvious surprise. He can’t help but snort at the response, at the vainglorious delivery, how Iruka continues to keep looking at him, as if expecting Tenzou to agree.

“You really raised Naruto, didn’t you?” Tenzou mutters, shaking his head helplessly.

That seems to ruffle Iruka’s feathers because not only does he flush, he also narrows his eyes, hackles obviously raised, every bit of the tension that suddenly lines his body reading defensive. The question that follows is assertive, almost challenging, like Iruka is daring Tenzou to speak ill of Naruto in his presence. “And what is _that_ supposed to mean, Tenzou-san?”

Tenzou brings his hands up in a surrendering gesture, hoping that it’d placate the temper in Iruka that is so visibly rising. “It means, Iruka-san that you are both stubborn and unbending. In the best of ways. We shouldn’t compromise our beliefs and shinobi way. This is something I’ve learned to respect from Naruto and now I see where he gets it from. I meant what I said as a compliment.”

It`s not a lie, Tenzou`s compliment that is. Far from it. 

Tenzou watches as Iruka flushes a little more, the scar on his nose now almost as white as his t-shirt. Iruka presses his lips to a thin, determined line, the same way Tenzou has seen Naruto do countless of times, when he’s trying to figure out the complex and very fragile balance of chakra, all those years ago.

“Naruto is a good boy. He is best of us,” Iruka says, swallowing past something in his throat, his shoulders hunching in what looks like a defensive inward curl. It irons out quickly when Iruka sucks in a deep breath, straightens his shoulders and keeps his chin perpendicular to the floor, his fingers reaching out to pick up his tea cup to take a sip.

Tenzou knows he’s staring, knows he’s trying to read the foreign language of Iruka’s body and failing. He doesn’t know Iruka, doesn’t know what the knit between his eyebrow may mean, nor does Tenzou know what the tight coiling tension running down the length of his spine may signify. But he can conclude that Iruka is probably feeling a lot like an exposed nerve right now, not wanting to share his reasons for refusing, in Tenzou’s opinion, the easiest thing to do. Tenzou would do it. He has no problems fucking others right under Iruka’s nose, if he must.

Because the truth of their situation is that they aren’t together.

There is no reason for either of them to get too emotionally invested in a union they don’t care for. A union, hilariously, that they had willingly agreed to and consummated while in the process of getting black-out drunk.

Tenzou tries to imagine himself in Iruka’s shoes. He tries to imagine being on the receiving end of a petition by shinobi parents to remove and immoral person from teaching their children on how to be weapons. The irony isn’t lost on Tenzou, but he can get it, to some degree, being robbed of your pride and joy like that. He gets the pride bit, at least. Tenzou doesn’t think he’s in any position to speak much on the concept of joy.

He personally wouldn’t really care if he gets re-assigned from ANBU to active field jounin. In his case, they’re both going to end up being the same thing, more or less; it’s just a different uniform.

Being without the porcelain mask of Cat doesn’t mean Tenzou wouldn’t be used to accomplish S-class missions.

“That only leaves us with 16 (iii). Accomplishing 16 (iii) (a) is easy enough. Are you opposed to sharing an apartment?” Tenzou asks, refusing to stop in trying to find a viable way out from this accidental marriage.

“No, Tenzou-san, I don’t have a problem sharing an apartment,” Iruka sighs. “I am unsure how to convince the designated physician of our current predicament, but perhaps if we are just honest with him or her, they’d understand how – well, how much of a real accident this all is. How we both have our own lives, too, so to speak.”

Tenzou nods, not finding any fault in the obvious course of action. “Character witnesses?”

“I can find four, yes, they should be able to vouch that you and I aren’t meant to be,” Iruka confirms, nodding a little bit.

“Well then, Iruka-san, we are in agreement. It’s a waiting game now, isn’t it?” Tenzou sighs, reaching up to rub the back of his head, more out of helplessness at having himself caught in this kind of precarious and inconvenient situation.

“It seems so,” Iruka chuckles deprecatingly, shaking his head before he goes still and _groans_ , burying his face in his hands. “Oh no…”

“What?” Tenzou straightens, peering at Iruka, watching him swipe the hand down his face, reaching out to give his shoulder a shake. “What is it?”

“Naruto…” Iruka _flinches,_ while everything in Tenzou skids to a grinding halt. “Oh gods, he’s going to be furious!”

“Furious?” Tenzou frowns. “That might be a bit of a strong word, Iruka-san. I’m sure if we explain it rationally, he’d understand.”

“Right…” Iruka doesn’t sound convinced.

“Besides, consider yourself lucky. Team 7 was sent to Sand the day you and I woke up in the hotel. They won’t be back for a long while, so there’s time to form a properly worded explanation, hmm?” Tenzou says, giving Iruka’s shoulder a bit of a squeeze.

Something that he casually retracts quickly when he realizes that he’s actually comforting the distraught man.

“Of course, of course,” Iruka agrees, shaking his head. “He just – he can get very over the top, very quickly, you know? He expresses himself very vividly.”

“I wonder where he gets that from…” Tenzou mutters, picking up his tea cup to hide the lopsided smirk threatening to pull at his lips.

“If you’re quite finished making fun of me, Tenzou-san, it’s best we return to exploring our options for cohabiting and get this over and done with, please,” Iruka tartly responds, his nose wrinkling in what seems to be a show of how unimpressed he truly is with Tenzou.

It’s a little cute. That nose wrinkle, that is. Like Iruka has smelled something foul.

Tenzou nods his head. “The Hokage has offered me some time off. Which, given that we are on agreement, I think I’m going to take him up on it. A week should be more than enough to pack and move our belongings to the new apartment and storage, if required, right?”

“Plenty of time. Unfortunately, Tenzou-san, I don’t have the same luxury. I cannot take time-off at the Academy right now as we approach mid-term examinations. But I can have my shadow clones do some of the moving and dedicate all my hours after the Academy and the weekend.” Iruka takes the law book away, pushing it back onto the table by the television.

“Well, if I’m going to move, I’d like the apartment to have a balcony,” Tenzou _sighs_. He might as well ask for things.

“A bath tub would be nice…” Iruka murmurs, tracing the rim of his cup with his thumb.

“I’ll start looking tomorrow once I have my leave sorted. I can pick you up after the Academy? So we can choose something that we can agree on?” Tenzou offers, tilting his head.

“That would be very nice, Tenzou-san. I appreciate you spearheading this process, thank you,” Iruka says and for the first time the entire evening, he smiles.

Tenzou finds himself staring, at the stark difference of this smile, how it softens Iruka’s face, when all evening, it had been lined with tension, worry and panic.

This is a better look on Iruka, Tenzou thinks, somewhere at the back of his mind, as he finishes his tea.

They spend the rest of the evening discussing how to divide rent and just how much of a budget they can work with moving forward.

*

Tenzou finalizes his leave with Kakashi and comes clean then and there. He is honest about his plan to divorce and how it is something mutual between him in Iruka.

The look of disappointment on Kakashi’s face, however, catches Tenzou off guard.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Kakashi huffs, rolling his eyes and disappointedly dropping his chin on his propped palm on the table.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, senpai,” Tenzou blithely responds, unable to quite keep the mocking tone out of his words.

What is Kakashi upset about? It’s as if he’s the one stuck in a binding marriage.

“Here I was, thinking about what to get you two love birds as a present. I suppose you’ve saved me from that particular obligation.” Kakashi waves his hand lazily, like he’s languidly shooing away a fly.

“What a relief,” Tenzou supplies, openly rolling his eyes at Kakashi. “All the same, senpai, thank you for giving me time off to get this mess sorted out.”

“Maa, ask nicely and you shall receive~” Kakashi sing-songs.

“I’ll leave you to your work, Hokage-sama,” Tenzou pointedly says, turning on his heel.

“No, no, wait, Tenzou, don’t go just yet, tell me more about your fake-marriage, wait, Tenzou!”

Tenzou _sighs_ , exiting the room swiftly without sparing Kakashi a second glance. Two days in office and he’s already complaining and trying to dodge the interesting pile of paperwork on his desk. Tenzou wants no part in fueling the Rokudaime’s tardiness with paperwork. Not if he can help it, anyway.

*

Tenzou makes quick work of visiting a few apartments that falls within both their budget range, all of them, somehow, within a short walking distance from the Academy, except for one which is located in the outskirts, with a partial view of Naka River. Tenzou doesn’t mind any of them, if he’s being honest. But if he had to choose one, he prefers the soft distant hum of the river flow and quiet distance from the bustle of Tea Avenue, which is where most of the other apartments are located.

Tenzou is standing outside the Academy in his jounin uniform, leaning against the barbwire fence when he hears Iruka’s voice from within. He turns and finds Iruka crouched down in front of what looks like a small group of orphans, their appointed guardian standing in waiting as Iruka runs over some quick points on what to study on for the upcoming exam. Tenzou watches as one of the smaller children reaches up and takes Iruka’s hands in her small grip, shaking it with what looks like worry that Iruka easily appeases by gently patting her on the head.

Iruka says something along the lines on, _I believe in you. Just do your very best and you’ll be okay in the exam!_

They are soft words. Kind words. Words that bring about an exchange of looks amongst the children before they smile and pile on Iruka in what looks like a grateful embrace. Tenzou watches them being herded away by the orphanage attendee, who waves goodbye at a smiling Iruka, loud, noisy footsteps filling the quiet lull of the now very empty Academy grounds.

Tenzou cannot remember being at the receiving end of something like that. Certainly not with Danzou, and most certainly not from any of his Academy teachers at the time. By the time he was six, Tenzou was already done with Academy. And back then, with the threat of war ever so close to Konoha’s borders, children were forced to grow up to men and women far too quick, far too soon.

In war, there is no place for _just do your very best_. There is no room for _I believe in you._

In war, you charge forward, slit their throats before they slit yours.

In war, you either die or don’t.

In war, you need to be the stronger weapon.

You cannot afford to be soft.

Being soft, makes you fall to your knees and retch your guts out, far away from the line of sight of your teammates. Being soft renders your hands weak, faltering, even if it can wield a fistful of lightning and cut through bodies with nothing more than a flick of wrist. Being soft, holding on to what’s left your humanity, even if it is being stripped layer by layer by each body you put into the ground, each snap of neck from spine your hands inflicts upon innocents, forever silencing their screams, robbing the light from their eyes, destroys you, slowly but surely. Being soft makes you knock on a door, makes you wrap fingers around a willing throat because Tenzou understands, in a twisted warped sort of way, the need to feel something beyond the veil of the unending screams, to walk, for just a moment, amongst the living. Tenzou has come to understand that he feels pity for these soft ones, which is why for years, he’s never fought Kakashi off, not when Kakashi pushes his cock into Tenzou’s mouth, or when Kakashi grabs Tenzou’s hands and purposely wrap them around his own neck, to squeeze, squeeze, just fucking _squeeze_ and rob him of breath for just a second, as Tenzou’s hips snaps forward, his hard cock splitting Kakashi’s body in half, only to let go when it matters and there, right there, that sharp gasping inhale, you walk amongst the living for just a precious, single blinding moment.

It’s always the soft ones, like Sakura, who has doubts weighing her potential down, blinding her from the objective at hand, rendering her weak because she can’t see past the screen of insecurity that is of her own doing.

It’s the soft ones, like Sai, who wasn’t always soft but was rendered groundless, directionless, suffocating and being pulled into the orbit of two giant suns that are his teammates, being ripped apart by the pull of their gravity. Tenzou had been there when Sai had gone still, when Danzou’s seal had dissolved at the tip of his tongue, for once in forever, rendering him a free man. Tenzou had been there, in the wake of Sai’s moment of weakness, as he looked on to the only commander available to him at the time, unable to quite vocalize the question, _what do I do_? Tenzou had patted him on the shoulder then and told him that he is part of Team 7 now. That there is nothing he should worry about except continue to work with teammates. Being with Team 7, if anything, has made Sai soft, for Danzou doesn’t raise soft soldiers.

Danzou raises weapons.

And then there’s Naruto, Canis Majoris itself compressed into the body of the jinchuuriki, a ever growing reckoning force that doesn’t yield under the hottest of the fanned flames, doesn’t cower before tyranny and instead, challenges it, beats it, when the village, at first shunned him, hated him, despised him for a genocide he didn’t commit. It could have gone either way, Tenzou thinks. Naruto is the profile definition of every cruel leader that rained tyranny upon their people—outcast, unloved, unwanted.

That is, until, Iruka.

Iruka who slows down his jog to a stop, smiling at Tenzou and apologizing if he had kept him waiting. _I was just getting rid of the last of the students, I hope you weren’t waiting long, Tenzou-san._

Iruka whose smile is as wide as Sirius, dimples dotting his cheeks as he rubs the back of his head, adjusting the strap of his satchel around his shoulder and side, giving Tenzou a patient and very politely accommodating look that Tenzou can only nod at, taking out that day’s newspaper and showing Iruka the few circled apartments ads he had narrowed down to fit their budget.

It’s the soft ones, Tenzou realizes, that he allows to walk all over him, as he quietly stands there in the empty space of what would soon be their living room, as Iruka steps out into the balcony to look over at the stretch of the Naka River, the cool spring wind tousling his ponytail and freeing some of his bangs from its previously slicked back state. It`s so obvious Iruka likes this apartment compared to the others, even if he doesn`t say it out loud. It’s soft ones who he is drawn to, Tenzou realizes, the ones that still have some form of light in their chest, be it just a mere flash of lighting, fleeting and quick, or something as large as the biggest sun in the galaxy.

The soft ones, apparently, are those with the strongest gravity.

“This is quite the view, Tenzou-san, are you sure this is within our budget?” Iruka asks, turning to look at Tenzou, the glow of the sunset bathing him in orange-gold.

“I’m sure,” Tenzou says, moving further into the apartment and joining Iruka by the balcony. “It has the best tub, too. I always wanted to grow some vegetables and maybe fruit in pots. I just never had the space for them in my current apartment.

“Now’s your chance, hmm?” Iruka turns and gives Tenzou a warm smile. “I’m sure they’d look quite beautiful come summer time.”

Something in the back of Tenzou’s throat tickles, as he clears his throat and tears his gaze away from Iruka’s open and honest expression.

Iruka isn’t wrong.

The garden that Tenzou wants to grown on their semi-spacious balcony, is nothing short of fantastic.

*

They finalize the contract the next morning before the Academy starts, Iruka penning his signature and getting his set of keys. He leaves Tenzou with three clones, one to scrub the apartment clean and the other to pack up his apartment.

They work around each other like a well oiled machine, scrubbing grime, dust and dirt from the tiles, the kitchen, the bathrooms and the balcony. Within days, Tenzou and Iruka both have their belongings tucked in boxes while, others that they’ve agreed on are kept in storage. They keep all of Tenzou’s larger house appliances: the fridge, the gas range, television and washing machine. They keep most of the smaller things like Iruka’s crockery, pots and pans, rice cooker, coffee maker, toaster and the microwave that Iruka embarrassingly admits is a wedding gift.

Their beds, shelves and whatever else ends up in their respective rooms.

What they up with is this:

A living room that is draped with new curtains Iruka has procured from one of the many vouchers he received. White baseboards and beige walls compliments Iruka’s beige rug that is tucked under Tenzou’s coffee table, where Iruka’s two seater teal sofa somehow, miraculously, doesn’t quite clash with Tenzou’s gray sofa. Tenzou scatters some of Iruka’s mismatched cushions on both sofas and on the rug, an action that seemed to unify the two very different pieces of furniture. The balcony is set up with a small table and a seating bench against the wall, which faces several rows of wooden pots of tomatoes, spring onions, cucumbers, peppers, zucchini, and strawberries. Tenzou sets up a small bed of herbs to dangle from the balcony railing along. They mount the television on the wall, set up their cable and tuck away all their kitchen gadgets to their respective spaces that by the end of the weekend, they both stand there looking at their handiwork.

“Not bad Tenzou-san,” Iruka says, tilting his head in quiet admiration of what is a much more spacious apartment than his previous studio.

Tenzou eyes their handiwork and agrees.

Not once in the entire process did he and Iruka butt heads.

Not bad indeed.

*

It isn’t bad, Tenzou discovers, to wake up in the morning and find coffee already brewing because Iruka had gone off to train. Iruka does that everyday, it seems, at the crack of dawn, probably in one of the training grounds and comes back quiet and sweaty, making a quick beeline for his room and then the bathroom.

Iruka would emerge then, dressed and looking ever so pristine, ironed uniform sitting on his frame as he pours himself coffee. Iruka would then prepare some toast, always asking Tenzou if he’d want some as well, something that Iruka simply spreads some margarine on and eats quietly while seated by the kitchen island, nursing his coffee, staring past the glass of their living room balcony.

But sometimes, Iruka oversleeps, and Tenzou is subjected to watching him literally dart out of his room, dragging his satchel and wishing Tenzou a pleasant day, the door slamming behind him.

Sometimes, Tenzou would wake up and find Iruka fast asleep on the kitchen island, bent over an impossible pile of his student workbooks, his red pen still on the paper before him, a cold cup of coffee long forgotten beside him.

And then there are times where Iruka just stands there, by the kitchen staring unseeingly past the balcony glass doors, lost in thought, as he downs one glass after another of cold sake, before he rinses his sake cup, puts the sake back in the fridge and then proceeds to grade like he hadn’t just been drinking to numb himself.

When Tenzou sees this, he asks, “Everything okay there, Iruka-sensei?”

“Yes, Tenzou-san,” Iruka says, looking up with a polite smile on his sake induced semi-flushed face. “Everything is okay.”

*

Okay, apparently, Tenzou discovers, is getting a funeral invite from the parents or family members of Iruka’s former students.

Okay, apparently, comes in the form of sake if it’s one student, whiskey if it’s an entire team.

Okay, apparently, comes with Iruka’s silence, not that Iruka is a noisy roommate. Far from it. But this is the kind of silence that makes Tenzou frown. It isn’t warm, like Iruka’s presence in the house, welcoming, soft. No, this kind of silence is jagged, like broken glass of a mirror that’s been punched, its fragments lying on the floor, ready to cut at soft flesh if one isn’t careful. This silence is heavy, drawn inwards, leaving shoulders hunched and lips relaxed to flaccid line, an unflattering look for someone who has beauty etched into their features.

Okay, apparently, sometimes, comes with Iruka abruptly retreating to his room and not coming out until the morning, where his chakra, Tenzou senses, remains unsteady, disturbed, in turmoil, as he mourns the deaths of his students, and allows himself to be weak, thinking that there is no one listening, no one feeling about by the walls of the shared apartment, because, after all, Iruka’s room is his haven of privacy.

So Tenzou accepts the okay as a full bodied answer each time he gets it, until one day, some four weeks into this new living arrangement, when he sees Iruka nursing an empty glass of whiskey by the kitchen island, staring unseeingly at the pile of quiz papers, Tenzou pours himself and Iruka another drink, and instead asks, “Need help with those?”

Tenzou doesn’t quite forget the look Iruka gives him that night. That silent protest that Iruka can’t quite voice because it isn’t his place. The one that says, they were too young to be soldiers, and now look at this.

There is no light in Iruka’s eyes when he says as he gives Tenzou a small pile and a spare red pen, “It’s basic math for weapon trajectory. I’m sure you can handle it, Tenzou-san.”

“Fun,” Tenzou murmurs, setting his glass down and taking a look at the first quiz paper in front of him.

“Wait till you see some of the creative answers,” Iruka chuckles, no humor in the sound at all.

It’s hollow.

Dead.

A struggling grasp for the light.

“Oh you mean like this?” Tenzou chuckles, and slides the paper towards Iruka and reads out the answer, “This is a hard question Iruka-sensei, sorry, I cannot answer this. Please help me. Sad face.”

A sound tears itself out of Iruka’s throat, raw and strangle, part laugh, part grief, as he brings a hand up to his mouth and looks at Tenzou, a little sheepish, a little alarmed as he tries to gather his faculties and blink away the thin film of salt gathering around the corners of his eyes. “He does try his best, you know?”

“I’m sure he does,” Tenzou agrees, not at all disagreeing. “That’s all they can do right? Try their best?”

Iruka ducks at that, nodding slowly, swallowing as a tremble goes through him, something that he quickly swallows when he picks up his whiskey glass, tipping the contents back like it’s a shot. Tenzou says nothing when he refills it, continues to say nothing as he and Iruka proceeds to mark the quizzes together, seemingly very comfortable around each other despite being strangers to each other.

Tenzou realizes, later on that night as he lies in bed thinking of the quiet, taut pull of Iruka’s jaw as he tries to swallow the mourning storm past the hoarse tightness of his voice, that it’ll probably make Iruka’s life a hundred times easier, if he just didn’t get too attached to his students.

Right about the same time Tenzou realizes that a cold, distant, callous Iruka is pretty much what the village is like when it comes to displaced children like Naruto and countless like him.

That it is Iruka’s kindness, more than anything, that has given birth to the hero responsible for their current peace.

Tenzou clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he clears the back of his throat, picking up the glass of water he keeps by his night stand and downing all of it in one go.

It wouldn’t suit Iruka at all, he concludes, as he tucks an arm under his pillow and turns on his side. To be cold that is. It’d be quite the ugly look on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big giant rainbow sparkles thanks to rikcain for helping me write the legalese thingamjig up there. Behold her magic lawyer skills! AMAZING! 
> 
> Well that got pretty serious real quick idek. WELP! What do you think? Yay? Nay? Yell at me? Kick me?


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta’d. Please mind the tags. There are mentions of violence, gore and dark themes that will pop out like daisies here and there because, well, non-linear writing. Final warning!

Iruka finds himself standing in front of a fish monger, staring at what looks like a large freshly caught salmon fillet being chopped into generous steak portions. The sale sign is the reason Iruka is standing in line, debating a little late in the evening if he should bother endeavoring in making a proper dinner for once or just buy take out as a show of thanks to Tenzou who didn’t have to assist him with his grading, nor keep him company as he mourned the loss of yet another student.

It’s been happening frequently, the funerals.

The never ending funerals.

On a bad week, Iruka attends three funerals. A good week would only mean one.

But that is the price one must pay when they send out children to do a soldier’s job. That is the fallout when you force little hands to fight strong, when they aren’t that strong, not yet, when innocence still run in their veins, flush their cheeks, even in these times of peace.

This is the price one pays to fill the gap that is borne from the loss in a great war.

Iruka knows this.

He understands this.

He’s watched it happen from the moment he had turned nineteen, when he first stepped into the Academy grounds on trembling knees and a wreck of nerves, unsure if he is fit to truly preserve and instill the will of fire into Konoha’s future. He’s been going to these funerals for what will almost be a decade, every single time, without fail. He has spare funeral blacks compared to others, because sometimes, one or two of them end up in the laundry hamper. Iruka has learned to always keep spare uniforms, and now, as he stands there and decides to cook dinner instead, he finds himself thinking that he should probably procure another spare funeral attire, so that he’d have a total of three.

They say that with time, you grow numb to the deaths that comes knocking upon your door.

They say that with time, you get used to it.

That the faces all blur to one. Maybe a little boy. Maybe a little girl.

But it never does.

Not for Iruka, at least.

And Iruka prays, as he walks down with his purchase and stops at a vegetable stand, that the day never comes where he forgets the faces of his students.

*

The hardest ones to let go are the ones that he happens to teach in their foundation years. The hardest ones to let go, the ones that truly rips a piece of his heart, one tiny bit at a time, are the ones he remembers holding their hands steady over paper. The ones where he would sit next to them on the bench, helping them calculate their basic math right, their cheeks so round, flushed with not just innocence but with effort to try to get the work done, to be the best ninja like Otou-san, or Okaa-san, like Nii-san or Nee-san, or the ones that say, I’m going to the Hokage one day, you know?

The hardest one to let go are the ones where Iruka would pick up if they fall from the monkey bars during recess, or if they duck under the shadows of the playground, trying to pat down dirty, sandy fingers on scratched knees that burn because they couldn’t run away fast enough during their game of It. The hardest ones to let go are usually those that grow to be the strong ones, the ones that Iruka knows, with every beat of his heart, would ascend the ranks far too quickly, while he prays like the wretched teacher that he is, the sentimental fool that he is, that they slow down just a little bit. For just a little longer.

Iruka remembers every child that passes under his care. He remembers every time he channels his chakra, brushing his basic training in iryo-ninjutsu over bruised knees and cuts on elbows, skid marks on palms and wrists, over injuries during weapons training, head bumps and bleeding noses, mouths, knocked back teeth and sometimes, broken bones too. He remembers the weight of their small bodies, either in his arms or on his back, when the injury is far too extensive to heal on his own. He remembers the sound of their voices, how they try so hard to be brave because Iruka asks them to, even though the tears carve down their soft cheeks like rivers, their teeth bitten down by trembling teeth and shoulders shaking with the effort to be brave.  _ Be strong _ , Iruka would say, as bones are set right.  _ You are strong and brave and this will be your badge proving that you are _ , Iruka would whisper, as he cradles their heads and they weep.

They’re children, after all.

And shinobi, no matter what they say, no matter the rule, they cry.

Because you can take the shinobi out of a human, but you can never take the human out of a shinobi.

It just doesn’t work that way.

It never has.

*

But then they’d call monsters like Madara or Orochimaru or Pain inhuman.

But are they though?

Truly?

*

Iruka thinks, as he chops up the vegetables – nothing too fancy, most of them cheap, if he’s being honest: celery, string beans, broccoli, cauliflower, bell peppers – that perhaps the reason people turn evil and destroy homes and displace citizens of a peaceful village is because they tried to rob their humanity from them. The world tries to destroy something good, something kind, something vulnerable. 

The strongest of them withstands that.

The weakest of them succumbs to that and what is left is something ugly, something diabolical and so destructive, so warped, that it puts a crater in the middle of what was once a village full of innocents. It causes genocide, regardless if they’re family or not, clan or not.

They bring with them wars and the never ending casualties that last decades.

Because the truth is, no one is born evil in this world.

Evil is just made.

*

With a heavy heart, Iruka finds himself staring at a tray he’s arranged for Tenzou as he prays for no more funeral invites to come to him anytime soon; he’s tired, just so tired now. He stares at the generous portion of freshly steamed jasmine rice in a bowl, complete with fine shavings of nori and a sprinkle sesame seeds. There is a bowl of hot miso soup, garnished with chopped spring onions and pieces of silken tofu. On a plate, Iruka has kept a large steak portion of oven roasted salmon, drizzled with a reduction of mirin, rice wine and soy sauce. He goes the extra mile and sets a small serving of umeboshi alongside the bowl of stir fried but still crunchy vegetables. The food items are served in matching dishware, arranged perpendicular to the point of obscene precision on a tray, a soup spoon and a pair of chopsticks wrapped in a napkin kept on the side.

Perhaps it’s a bit much, Iruka thinks.

The last time he’s prepared this kind of salmon had been years ago, easily before Pain’s attack, when Naruto had stayed overnight during a weekend after vigorous training with Kakashi and Tenzou. Iruka remembers cooking up a storm that weekend, to ensure Naruto would get the best kind of fuel that doesn’t come from a convenience store or isn’t solely ramen.

Nostalgia slams up and into Iruka’s chest as he glances at the time that reads 9:45 PM.

It’s a little too late for dinner.

But Iruka sighs all the same and covers up Tenzou’s dinner anyway.

It is in the middle of tucking into his own late dinner that is in a large broth bowl, the contents a mash of rice, vegetables with a piece of salmon on the side does the front door open, Tenzou’s quiet presence filling the room.

Iruka listens to Tenzou toe his boots off by the genkan, at the quiet pad of his bare feet on their clean floors as he approaches the common kitchen and living area, where Tenzou tugs off the happuri and gives a tentative sniff in Iruka’s food bowl direction.

“Hey, that smells really good. Salmon?” Tenzou asks, ever so polite in his greeting as he reaches for a glass in the cupboard and fills it with water from the tap. 

“Hmm, they had a good sale in the market today,” Iruka says after he swallows a mouthful, nodding a little, a bit of color brushing over his cheeks as he watches Tenzou cast a casual, curious, maybe a little hungry glance at his own food bowl, ignoring the tray that is covered on the table. “I - uhmm, I made enough for the both of us if you haven’t had dinner yet?” Iruka gestures towards the tray, surprised at the surprise that blooms all over Tenzou’s face. It makes the flush on Iruka’s cheeks deepen just a shade darker. “I mean, if you want it—“

“I’d love — that is, I’m thankful, and no I haven’t had dinner yet, actually,” Tenzou responds, rubbing the back of his head a little bashfully. “You didn’t have to, Iruka-san.”

“I wanted to thank you, for helping me yesterday.” Iruka reaches out for the plastic lids covering the dishes on the tray, carefully revealing what he had previously plated almost an hour ago. 

“Wow,” Tenzou suddenly says, his eyes wide as he stares at the tray. “That’s — that must have taken much of your time.” 

“Not at all, Tenzou-san. I used to cook more often back in the day, especially when Naruto would spend the night over during his early years in the Academy. It got less frequent the more he became independent but this is — well, it’s better to cook when you have someone to share it with, I find. Please, let me warm this for you while you change and—“ 

“No, no, it’s okay I got it,” Tenzou says, shaking his hands and surging forward to pick up the bowls of rice and vegetables himself. “Nothing our microwave can’t handle, hmm?” 

Iruka smiles a little bemusedly in agreement, nodding a little, watching Tenzou all but shove his dinner into the microwave with what looks like excitement if not eagerness. “Beer?” 

“Sure,” Tenzou shrugs, his lips tugging up to a bit of a lopsided but open, as he turns to wash his hands by the kitchen sink, the smell of fresh citrus from their soap dispenser filling the small space between them.

*

Iruka finds that his statement earlier to be truer than ever before.

Sitting here and now, with Tenzou across from him on a stool, stuffing his face with his meal, Iruka finds that the simple dishes he has prepared to be suddenly more flavorful, just a touch warmer and satisfying. He smiles when Tenzou sheepishly asks, with a bit of a flush on his cheeks if there happens to be more rice. Iruka is more than happy to serve him another, and thirds too. It warms Iruka the way it always does when the meals he prepares is polished off, when the pot of miso soup is now empty and the rice cooker almost depleted, when the pan of oven roasted salmon now lies soaking in the sink as he and Tenzou pick on the last bits and pieces of their meal.

Company with a meal has always been a thing for Iruka. And although he won’t say that he’s a lonely, friendless man, that he doesn’t share meals with two of his best friends, his colleagues and sometimes others from the mission desk, or on the even rarer occasion these days, with Naruto, he can honestly say that it’s been a very, very long while since he’s shared a home cooked meal with anyone.

And Tenzou, Iruka finds, is wonderful, pleasant company.

“By the way, how did that kid do?” Tenzou suddenly asks, like he’s just remembered something, setting his third finally empty bowl of rice down and picking up his half full beer bottle. “The kid who asked for your help on the quiz paper. Ryu, I think, his name was?”

The question somehow catches Iruka off guard, making him pause and stare a little at Tenzou’s face. The stare continues, until Tenzou raises his eyebrows in silent question, making Iruka swallow and scramble around in his head for an answer. He hadn’t expected to remember anything from his grading the night before, let alone pay any attention to the student’s rather begging, if not creative response on a quiz paper. Whenever Iruka had gotten help from anyone he knows, they certainly don’t pay this much keen attention; at least not enough to remember a student by behavior.

Iruka always had the impression that such behaviors were better reserved for the teaching staff at the Academy.

To have an ANBU commander and jounin ask him? And look interested, too? 

“Uhmm, well, Ryu-kun got a little one-o- one from me this afternoon. He lost twenty minutes of his recess but he seemed to have understood how to solve the math.” Iruka blinks, reaching up to rub the back of his head, smoothing down the low poyntail, unable to quite keep the confusion from his face.

“You look surprised. He didn’t seem to be a poor student from the quiz mark he got. Am I wrong?” Tenzou continues to inquire.

The genuine curiosity is throwing Iruka off for a loop. He stammers a bit of a noise, before he clears his throat and shakes his head with a small, but appreciative smile, a part of his chest warming to see someone respectable, of good rank and reputation, remember one of his students. Ryu may not be at the top of his class or anyone from a big clan name. But he tries his best and that more than anything, has always been more than enough for Iruka.

“No, no, you’re not wrong in the sense that, he’s a poor student. Ryu-kun is strong and very hard working. He’s picking up taijutsu and strategy quite well. Kids like him usually, if my prediction is right, excel in tracking and reconnaissance. He’s not Nara genius but he’s… he’s got a bright future ahead of him.” Iruka realizes how he’s rambled and flushes a little in the wake of what looks like open bemusement tugging on Tenzou’s features. “I - well, I guess I was just surprised that you remembered him? It’s rare that I converse about my students to anyone outside of my, uhmm, Academy colleagues. I’m surprised you were paying attention, is all.”

“Really?” Tenzou pulls back a bit from the table, crossing his arms across his chest in thought. “Forgive me, then, if I’ve made you uncomfortable or anything—“

“No, not, ah, not at all!” Iruka shakes his head and gesticulates with his hands. “That’s not it at all, Tenzou-san! I’d be more than happy to talk to you about my students! That’s not the issue at all! I just — well…” Iruka reaches up to rub the back of his head. “How do I say this? Most shinobi, unless they’re parents, of course, or the Hokage, don’t remember or care to ask about these things. I do get help from some friends and the mission desk colleagues if I happen to be doing the graveyard shift. They sometimes help with the math and coded language quizzes because that’s something we all know. But they never— no one really asks about the kids, per se. So I am surprised that you did. That you were even paying attention to the child’s name, is all.”

“Oh…” Tenzou blinks a few times, like this is news to him. “I see.”

“Yeah…” Iruka shrugs, and because he had nothing else to say, the confusion having been clarified already, his gaze drops to his empty bowl.

“I wouldn’t say that I don’t care. For all we know, years from now, I might mentor this kid. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentored some of your students in ANBU, Iruka-san. Foundation years are the most critical. If one's foundation isn’t solid, then, well, they become ineffective in the field,” Tenzou says. “Doing your best sometimes, isn’t the only thing that keeps your back strong, hmmm?” 

“I understand, yes,” Iruka says slowly, not at all dismissing the words. It’s not that it’s a lie. It’s just the reality of their lives as shinobi. “As a teacher ensuring these foundations are strong, I can - I can only hope that it’s enough. But it doesn’t seem like it ever is, you know?” 

Because had it been enough at all, then the funeral invites would stop, wouldn’t it, Iruka doesn’t say.

But something in Tenzou’s gaze seems to soften and open at the same time. Iruka isn’t sure what to make of it, this quiet steady and assessing look Tenzou is now directing at him, how it narrows in its focus, but still remains non-invasive. It doesn’t make the flush on Iruka’s cheeks recede but it makes the knots in his stomach that seemed to have twisted itself into ease. Iruka has always been very hyper-aware of what his stance is in the village, what his place is. That he is, more than anything, at best, a clerical shinobi. He may be a teacher but teachers, in general, aren’t exactly at the top of the chain in terms of rank unless you are a genin instructor. Academy teachers are almost always taken for granted, dismissed and not at all given that much of a priority provided that they are instilling the designed curriculum upon their future soldiers.

To get this kind of attention that isn’t from the Sandaime, is rare.

It’s odd.

It certainly has been a long,  _ long _ while.

But not unpleasant.

(After all, isn’t that what every person craves? To be seen?)

“Sometimes, it’s not the geniuses who are the strongest,” Tenzou says slowly, tilting his head just so, as if he’s hinting at something that Iruka isn’t aware of. “Even if they are highly skilled. Legends, even.” Tenzou leans his arms and elbows against the counter, shrugging. “I’m starting to see that the strongest amongst us aren’t the ones who are always academically savvy. Or even if they were academically savvy, it’s the average ones, or even the slow ones, maybe even the emotional ones, who ends up being the strongest. In my experience.”

Iruka knows there’s something tucked under that statement. He can feel it as the fine hairs at the nape of his neck rise, goosebumps breaking all over his arms and downs he length of his back.

Because there is truth in Tenzou’s words.

How many times has Iruka coached and spent extra minutes, sometimes hours, sometimes weekends, on students who just seem to not be able to grasp the material right? How many times has he issued detention to children who would just rather play than calculate weapon trajectories? How many times has he buried his face behind a palm when a student just keeps missing their target when they’ve gone over and over their throwing techniques, the weapon balance between their fingers, their wrist, only for the kunai to sail past the targets and somewhere in the trees? How many times has Iruka lurked after Academy hours gathering those weapons? And then repeat himself like a broken record, to the point that he gets called Nagging-sensei, or Radio-sensei. 

Gods, the names he’s been called over the years.

But then, how many of those very, very frustrating students excelled later, how they soared through the ranks, how they didn't end up being the ones dead? Not so fast and not so soon, anyway. How many of them end up becoming jounin, Hunters or even ANBU? How many of them end up getting mentored by legendary sannins, only to become a well respected medic in their field? How many of them end up being the village hero, the bringer of unity and peace? How many of them end up being a traitor, who turns their back on their village?

How many times has Iruka placed his bets on the slower ones? The kind ones? The empathic ones? Because when you’re weak, you know the value of strength, of skill, of technique. When you’re weak, you know the importance of counting on your teammates; you are amongst the first to see the true value of teamwork.

When you’re weak, you have the potential to be strong. And stronger still. The sky's the limit when you’re weak. When you’re weak, when you’re  _ soft _ , as clan heads and superiors like to call you, you have a hundred ways to prove them wrong. 

You are limitless.

Iruka’s gaze flicks up as he swallows, staring at Tenzou like he's seeing him for the first time. Something about that opinion, or perhaps Tenzou's evolving belief based on experience puts Iruka at ease, makes whatver tension in his shoulder dissolve, enough that Iruka doesn't realize he's openly and unabashedly staring at Tenzou, a bit of a involuntary ghost of a slack smile tugging at the corners of Iruka’s lips. Just barely so, peppered with gentle awe and pleasant surprise.

People don't realize it but a teacher's job is difficult. You cannot help but get attached. Most if not all of Iruka's fellow teachers consciously make the choice to maintain polite and strict distance between themselves and their students, mostly for peace of mind and to avoid the heartache attachments usually come with. Iruka has seen over the years just how easy it is to be drawn to the fast ones, the smart ones, the geniuses because as teachers, they have a quota to fill too. They have to put bodies forward, they have to ensure their children graduate so they can be genin and serve the village. The more soldiers they have, the more missions they can accomplish, the stronger the village’s standing and economy becomes.

It's business and patriotism with almost little to no room for humanity.

It's cold.

And it's so easy to just see the children as bodies. It's so easy to get lost in that vicious cycle of churning out one soldier after another. 

Getting the smarter ones out first means you spend less time coaching and teaching. It means on less number to meet in your yearly target.

To hear someone like Mokuton Yamato say that it's the slower ones, the emotional ones, non-genius ones that excel later, when Iruka is mostly used to hearing his fellow colleagues more often than not struggle with their difficult students, it's refreshing.

It's wonderful.

It's validation.

Because there's caring and then there's Iruka, his colleagues would tease. You're too nice, you're wasting your time, you're thinking too much about this, they'll forget you anyway what's the point? Iruka has heard it all. Has gotten used to the kind of reputation he has in Academia. You're raising weapons, they say.

(But if I can't become a teacher my students can depend on, the I have failed them in the worst way.)

To recognise this, that the weaker ones, the dead last ones has potential too, that they are strong too, to hear it from an ANBU taichou, a jounin, Iruka can't help but ride on the warmth and pride that suddenly swells in his chest because,  _ yes, yes! That’s what I've been saying this entire time! _

“What?” Tenzou asks, cocking an eyebrow, a bemused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that? Did I say something weird?”

“No, no, not at all. I just…” Iruka blinks, swallowing and sucking in a slow deep breath, one hand coming up to rub his other arm, as he huffs a soft chuckle and ducks his head, shaking it just the tiniest bit. “I would hope, Tenzou-san, if your belief has evolved to the words you've just said, that my future students end up under your command one day. You must be a great mentor. I bet if you ever were to have your own genin team, those students would flourish and excel. I say this as a teacher and from experience of speaking to countless jounin and tokubetsu-jounin. Not everyone is fit to be a genin instructor, you know? You seem like you'd do well at it.”

“Me?” Tenzou’s eyes are wide, a bit of a flush dusting over his cheeks. Like he didn't expect the kind of praise Iruka has just vocalised. “I can barely hold Team 7 together!”

Iruka snorts and then dissolved into a bit of a laugh. “You really did get the toughest of the lot. I'll admit that.”

“They are impossible, sometimes,” Tenzou mutters, which comes off as a complaint but wrapped in what sounds like genuine respect and perhaps just a sliver of affection. “You really think so, Iruka-san? A genin commander?”

“I think you'd be wonderful at it,” Iruka says, leaning forward and propping his chin on a palm. “I meant it.”

Tenzou is quiet for a long time, as they sit there in the silence of their shared kitchen, just looking at each other. There is something like mild shock and wonder I. Tenzou's quiet gaze, as it brushes over Iruka's body in a focus that makes Iruka suddenly very hyper aware of himself. Enough for Iruka to push away from the island, rubbing his palms over his knee caps, breaking his gaze away.

“Ah, then appreciate your vote of confidence, Iruka-san. Thank you,” Tenzou says, whisper-soft. Almost grateful, even.

Iruka smiles at him then, and says, “You're welcome…”

*

The next morning, Iruka wakes up a little late given that it’s a weekend. He wakes up to Tenzou watering his plants with a watering can in the balcony, the carafe of the coffee machine already full of coffee and a bakery box that hadn’t been there the night before now sitting on the kitchen counter. Tenzou must have caught sight of Iruka milling about sleepily, helping himself to a cup of a coffee because the three audible knocks on the glass makes Iruka look up at Tenzou waving at him and pointing at the bakery box.

Puzzled, Iruka casts the pastel green and yellow box a cursory glance, before blinking at Tenzou’s direction in silent question. It is then in field shorthand that Tenzou signs,  _ I got breakfast. Please help yourself. _

Iruka pauses at that before nodding and smiling a little gratefully. Tenzou didn’t have to. He recognizes the box. He knows that on weekends, the morning line must have been a little ridiculous. It’s one of the more popular places on Tea Avenue. 

Iruka sets his full mug of coffee down, reaching out for the box, propping the lid open. There’s a large breakfast pastry in the middle, stuffed with egg, shredded ham and sweet, chopped cherry tomatoes. It’s a little on the indulgent side but Iruka smiles all the same, turning to look up at Tenzou who looks back through the glass and signs,  _ thank you. But where’s yours? _

Tenzou rubs the back of his head, sheepishly,  _ I already had mine _ .

The smile on Iruka’s face grows wider before he nods and turns to pop the box into the microwave, just for a few seconds to warm up the pastry dough. 

It was rather thoughtful of Tenzou to get him something alongside his own breakfast. Iruka catches himself feeling a tendril of fondness in his chest, as he takes a bite off the delicious, flaky, buttery pastry that instantly melts in his mouth and thinks, well, he’s got time. Maybe if Tenzou is around at lunch time, he can prepare something for the both of them.

If not, then there’s always dinner. 

Besides, it’s nice to be cooking for someone else again.

*

Tenzou watches, from beyond the glass, how the dimples dot Iruka’s cheeks as he tucks into his breakfast, staring at it with a look of appreciation that in and of itself, is rewarding. Tenzou isn’t the kind to take advantage of other people’s efforts and time; Iruka really didn’t have to thank him with a lavish dinner the night before. Still, it had felt natural to get something to return Iruka’s efforts and consideration. 

It certainly is a small thing in return for the kind words and honest opinion Iruka had shared with him the night before. 

Tenzou has spent a lot of his younger years striving to be strong, when as a child, he had been far too small than the rest of those in his age group. Too skinny, too short, all knees and elbows, always overwhelmed by the bigger children in Root and later, even as he had joined Sandaime’s command, the rest of Team Ro. Tenzou had figured out that much, much later that his late growth spurt probably had something to do with the chemicals and experimentation stunting his growth, messing up his hormones. Because when puberty hit, it hit like a speeding steam train, albeit late. And through all those years, Tenzou had been conditioned with the idea that he is the Shodaime’s legacy, that the Shodaime’s cells run in his veins, that he must work hard to be of the Shodaime’s caliber. 

Danzou certainly ensured that he worked hard, always coming up with challenging training, always pushing Tenzou’s body and psyche to its breaking point, putting him under stress, trying to trigger more of the Shodaime’s hidden power because that’s how it happened in the first place. Tenzou had been in the middle of the mission, at eleven years old, far too small, far too overpowered by two gargantuan jounin of Mist trying to cut him down. And in a fit of panic because he is going to fail the mission, he is not going to be able to fulfill what is required of him, he would fail Konoha, roots as high as the sky had erupted on the ground, impaling the screaming Jounin by the torso, as gravity slowly pulled their weight to the ground, their screams dying off with each inch they sink lower, alongside the other dead bodies that Tenzou had already managed to leave behind.

It’s what Tenzou wakes up to. A lattice of nature’s horror and blood raining on him as he stares up at the suddenly obscured moon in the middle of a Mist’s outer swamps, at the bent, twisted bodies hanging limply on uneven, jagged and grotesque wooden spikes.

After that, it’s been a steady praise and awe at his Mokuton. After that, the whispers of how strong, how deadly he is had begun.

After that, he was acknowledged to be not like the Shodaime, but a brutal force and a monster of his own making.

To be acknowledged as something that isn’t related to Mokuton, whether directly or indirectly, however is new.

To be told that he has the makings of being a genin commander, is new.

Surprising.

It certainly isn’t something that Tenzou has thought of doing. He’s too ingrained in the shadows of ANBU. He’s better off commanding killers than he is with optimistic teenagers. He had meant what he said to Iruka; keeping team seven together is a struggle, but one if successful, comes with a strange feeling of accomplishment. Foreign but wondrous all the same. It’s not like ANBU, where men and women within the ranks are expected to perform, are already aware that they are there to serve and fight a war in the shadows, to serve, and not have lofty ideals and ambitions.

To be acknowledged with something like that, with a look of what seems like unguarded honesty, perhaps even awe upon Iruka’s attractive face, well…

It warms Tenzou, even now, as he thinks about their conversation last night. It’s nice, to be acknowledged as something other than what’s been forcibly fused into his DNA.

It’s nice to be told that.

And so watching Iruka now as he licks his lips and then takes a sip from his coffee, is reward enough. Tenzou doesn’t think he can hold a candle against Iruka’s cooking last night, but this is good enough for him. Iruka seems pleased with his breakfast; maybe even happy.

He clears his throat, turning his attention away from Iruka’s figure back to the plants he’s watering before he sets the watering can down, trying to ward away the itch in his throat that frankly hasn’t left him all morning. He crouches down by the pots, checking for weeds, checking the soil, as he hopes that he isn’t coming down with something, what with the change of weather and the seasonal flu going around as they segue from cool spring to the soon to be sweltering heat of summer.

Pleased that his plants are growing well, Tenzou sets aside the watering can and steps back into the cooler space of their living room, sliding the glass door shut behind him and making a bee line for the kitchen sink to wash his hands. Iruka is done with his breakfast and is dusting crumbs from his fingers onto the box, swallowing the last bite and washing it down with warm coffee.

“I hope it’s something you enjoyed,” Tenzou says, as he turns the tap off and wrings his hand, reaching out for the paper towel dispenser to dry his hands. 

“Oh yes, that was quite a treat! Thank you, Tenzou-san. You didn’t have to, though! But i appreciate it all the same,” Iruka grins.

“Ah, well, I can’t quite cook like you but I figured, it’s a nice saturday morning and you’ve been working quite hard all week because of mid-terms and still somewhat managed to cook a lavish dinner last night. Why not, hmm?” Tenzou says, pouring himself a cup of coffee and offering the carafe in Iruka’s direction, who holds his mug out and accepts to be poured another cup.

“It’s - well, it’s not that lavish. At this rate, are we going to be trying to repay the other with dinner and treats?” Iruka teases, dimples hollowed on his cheeks. “You know, if you really enjoyed last night’s dinner, I wouldn’t mind making more. It’s nice to cook for someone again. Food always tastes better when it’s eaten with someone.” 

“To eat a feast every night? Iruka-san, you will not get any opposition from me.” Tenzousays, tilting his head in thought as he watches Iruka chuckle, a bit of a blush dusting over Iruka’s cheeks. Tenzou is  _ not _ going to say no to a home cooked meal. He is not an idiot. “I can buy the ingredients and you can cook?” 

“I am not going to let you shoulder  _ all _ the expenses!” Iruka protests.

“Well, the way I look at it, you’ll be shouldering most if not all of the labor. It evens out fairly, doesn’t it?” Tenzou slides into one of the stools, setting his coffee down on the island.

“M-Maybe, but that’s — I mean, are you sure, Tenzou-san?” Iruka looks uncertain, mostly probably for Tenzou.

“Positive.” Tenzou nods. “You’re doing me a favor. I probably spend more on take out than I will with groceries.”

“Oh…” Iruka reaches up and tugs at his low ponytail, something that Tenzou realizes is a gesture Iruka does when he is calculating something in his mind. Iruka does that a lot when he is working on his lesson plans. Or coming up with a worksheet for his students. “Well, if you’re sure, then, ahhh — please let me know what you like. If I can prepare it, I will do my best, Tenzou-san.”

“Sure. I’m not very—“

Tenzou gets cut off when the doorbell to their apartment rings.

And rings again.

And proceeds to ring repeatedly, which is then followed by a very sharp, very insistent rapping of fist against the grain of the wood, almost desperate. Iruka frowns, standing up the same time Tenzou does, both their eyes narrowed in mild alarm, which then widens to panic when Naruto’s very clear and very loud voice starts calling out from the middle of the apartment hallway:

“Iruka-senseiiiiiii! I know you’re in there! I can sense you!  _ How could you _ ?” Naruto all but  _ yells _ , sounding utterly betrayed.

Tenzou’s gaze snaps from the door to Iruka’s face that has gone chalky white. Iruka who lowers himself back shakily on the stool and just proceeds to stare at Tenzou with the whites of his eyes so visible with how popping wide his eyes currently are in shock and what is clearly apprehension.

“ _ You guys better not be in the middle of anything weird, or else! Open up!” _

The doorbell continues to ring like it’s being pressed by a curious barbarian. Tenzou cannot stop the heat from painting over his face and judging by Iruka’s look, neither can he.

“The truth?” Tenzou asks.

“O-Okay,” Iruka agrees.

They didn’t need to say more to understand what course of action to take.

Steeling his nerves, Tenzou exhales slowly, stands on weirdly nervous knees and moves to open the door before Naruto kicks the entire thing down.

And to think it’s barely even ten in the morning.

It’s too early in the day to be dealing with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy with this chapter. I think out of all the YamaIru moments I have written over the years, I am most happy with this dinner scene. Dsbjdbhjfsdds i am a simpleton dweeb excuse me okay.
> 
> Like it? Hate it? Feel free to yell in the comments or hit me up at tumblr: pinkcatharsis.


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

If glares had the potential to melt human beings, Tenzou is certain he would be nothing more than an indescribable puddle, as he stands there holding the door open, watching Naruto’s nostrils flare open and close like a bull about to charge. Naruto is standing with his legs wide and ready to surge forward if required, his entire body braced for attack, chakra barely suppressed and knuckles reddened from how hard he’d been rapping on the door. Naruto looks like he’s ready to sink his teeth into Tenzou’s head, chew it out for, no doubt, in Naruto’s mind, stealing away his precious person without his knowledge and, worse, not even extending the invitation.

Tenzou knows all this. Has predicted as much.

He returns Naruto’s bull like behavior with nothing more than a placid if not a touch unimpressed look. Which slowly starts to morph to what Naruto has started to call taichou’s-ghoul-face. Naruto twitches, maybe inches his chin backwards by a few centimeters, but stubbornly doesn’t back down.

Tenzou preens just a little inwardly though, at that miniscule change, glad that he still had it in him to intimidate Konoha’s greatest hero.

“If you break the door down, you’re paying for it,” Tenzou says, towering to his full height and utilizing his bulk, size and ghoul-face to maximum capacity, looking down at Naruto from the tip of his nose.

“W-Where is Iruka-sensei?!” Naruto retorts, refusing to be cowed, the corner of his blue eyes twitching.

Tenzou would have been impressed, would have even prolonged this obnoxious stare-down if the neighbors didn’t start opening their doors to look at the ruckus that is happening far too early on a weekend. Tenzou sighs heavily through his nose, steps aside and pulls the door wider open.

“Shoes.” Tenzou points, and watches as Naruto kicks his boots off, the pair flying left and right haphazardly before tearing through the apartment interior, gravitating right for Iruka where Tenzou watches, as he closes the door, Naruto begin to shake Iruka by the shoulder like he’s more than a child’s stuffed toy.

The door doesn’t close however, because there is Sakura panting, planting the palm of her hand on the door jamb, a large bouquet of flowers in her arm looking just a touch dilapidated, and Sai just rounding the corner of the hallway at a more sedate pace.

Tenzou _almost_ shoves the door shut forcibly.

He is not in any shape or form keen on letting his good morning mood from earlier to head straight down the drain and have all of Team 7 in his apartment starting a fuss. Iruka turns to look at him helplessly, as he is shaken like a rag doll, a bit of a helpless smile on his face as Naruto all but yells.

“Why? Why, Iruka-sensei? Why didn’t you tell me? I knew nothing! Why didn’t you wait for me? You said you’d always have me as your best man!”

“Taichou,” Sakura _pants_ , before forcing herself in, boots also kicked at the door, and as predicted, her fist promptly lands on the top of Naruto’s head, punctuated by a loud, “Stop shaking Iruka-sensei, _idiot!_ ”

Iruka sways a little in his stool, hands coming up to steady himself on the corner of the island, reaching up to rub the back of his head as he starts to gently try to placate Naruto, urging him and Sakura to take a seat in one of the four wooden kitchen stools around the said island, somewhere in between begging Naruto to not break anything because they’re new tenants and he would very much not want his deposit to be flushed down the toilet.

“You brought this upon yourself, you know,” Sai says, soft, pleasant, polite, smile present on his ever unreadable face.

Tenzou simply stares back, not quite able to prevent the passive aggressiveness from coming to his tone. “Maybe you should wait outside.”

“You may risk upsetting your spouse and sleeping on the couch,” Sai responds, smile widening like he finds this entire thing funny, before he adds, “taichou.”

Gods, Tenzou hates this team sometimes.

Unable to do anything else, Tenzou cants his head into the direction of the living room, waits while Sai toes his boots off in a less barbaric way than the other two before he slams the door shut in the wake of his curious neighbors.

*

Iruka is pouring Naruto juice.

Iruka is also gently rubbing circles on Naruto’s back, softly coaxing him to drink some of the orange juice as he steeps some tea bags in a pot for the rest of the seated party now surrounding the kitchen island. 

Tenzou cannot understand _why_ Iruka is pouring Naruto juice, as if Naruto’s delicate constitutions has been compromised by the news of their marriage, and that Iruka is staving off a wild panic attack that may unleash the Kyuubi. He can’t wrap his head around the fact that Naruto listens, cheeks puffed, rubbing what had to be a swollen lump tucked under his blond hair from Sakura’s fist, and drinks said juice. All of it. And when Iruka prompts him if he wants another glass, Naruto glumly nods and Iruka pours him another.

Tenzou remains standing there, arms crossed, eyeing Sai who looks about as passive as one can be with a smile on his face that is bordering on outright disturbed, and Sakura who has been tasked with arranging the bouquet of flowers into a vase that Iruka had fished out from the under the kitchen sink. 

Tenzou stands there, watching as Iruka plates some biscuits, roasted nuts and dried fruit, watches him serve tea to Team 7, thanking Sakura for her thoughtfulness and making all the appropriate happy and pleased noises a host would make if they are to be on the receiving end of a congratulatory bouquet. Iruka sets the vase on the center of the coffee table and then, as if Naruto is about to explode again, what with his mouth opening to possibly yell out more questions, Iruka beats him to it and asks if he wants more juice instead.

To which Naruto nods.

And gets more juice.

Tenzou can’t wrap his head around how Iruka manages to calm the team in seconds, that now, he’s even encouraging Sai to try some of the roasted hazelnuts with the cinnamon tea he has prepared, telling him that it’s one of his favorite combinations when Sai admits to never having the two together. Iruka balances out his conversation with Sai and Sakura, thanking Sakura when Sakura compliments them on their home, how cozy it is and how creative it is to utilize mismatched cushions to bring two very different furniture sets together, that she appreciates their modern approach and that the garden beyond the balcony looks gorgeous.

In the space of their shared home, noise fills it, easy and casual, comfortable even, as Iruka continues to pacify Naruto and engage in small talk with Sakura and Sai. This, however, ends when Iruka approaches Tenzou, a dimple dotting his cheek as he hands Tenzou a cup of tea — Tenzou sees it then, the deep flush on Sakura’s face, how she’s eying them with some sort of manic glee in her eyes, unable to quite stop vibrating in her seat. Tenzou knows that look. It’s the same look Kakashi gets whenever Icha Icha releases new merchandise, movie and short television series production updates. 

Sakura is fangirling.

Over them both.

That in and of itself makes Tenzou look at Iruka who is smiling up at him, bemusement in his eyes, and something a little more tender, something that Tenzou isn’t quite sure to make of. But it elicits this: 

A blush _burning_ over Tenzou’s cheeks and down the column of his neck, his fingers wrapping around the offered tea cup, and Sakura clasping her hands together in front of her chest, beaming widely.

“Yamato-taichou, Iruka-sensei, you look so good and happy together! I’m really happy for you guys!” Sakura says with a broad, flushed, happy grin. 

“Congratulations on your marriage,” Sai says, nodding slightly, the smile remaining the same on his face.

On the far left, a noise escapes Naruto’s throat. A noise that makes Iruka’s smile freeze completely, the corner of his eye twitching, as Iruka very slowly lowers himself down on the last remaining stool around the kitchen island, straight backed and folding his hands around his tea cup. Tenzou steps forward too, towards the island, taking a sip of his tea to clear the sudden itch at the back of his throat, as he tries to figure out just how to word their situation in a manner that won’t either require more juice, or worse, elicit a response that may require structural damage repairs. Tenzou tries to think of a diplomatic response, and then proceeds to over simplify, rehearsing a combination of phrases in his head while Naruto continues to turn a little green around the gills as he stares between Iruka and Tenzou, his jaw dropping down wider and wider and wider.

“Close your mouth, Naruto. Or you’ll catch flies,” Iruka says calmly. A little _too_ calmly.

Naruto’s mouth immediately clamps shut, his teeth clacking audibly.

“I guess, now that we’re all calm and seated, we can now address the truth of the matter,” Tenzou says, setting his tea cup down, looking at the sudden flicker of confusion on their faces. “We’re not really together.”

Iruka punctuates that with a nod of his head. “The truth is, we accidentally got married.”

“Accidentally got married?” Naruto parrots. “So wait! That means—“

“We’re married. Legally. Yamato-taichou is now registered under the Umino family scroll. And will remain so until we can finalize the divorce,” Iruka says, remaining pleasant faced throughout. 

“Wait. Wait, but, sorry, Yamato-taichou, Iruka-sensei. That doesn’t make sense. You can’t just accidentally get married. It doesn’t work that way, I don’t think?” Sakura asks, a pinch between her eyebrows as she tries to digest this new information.

“Were you even in a relationship to begin with?” Sai prompts.

Tenzou wants to be anywhere else but here, in front of three teenagers trying to address their drunken marriage that neither of them can remember anything about. He would honestly rather go back to having a quiet, lazy day at home, maybe watch a little television while Iruka works on his lesson plans, or catch up on reading his book, both of them just being in each other’s quiet company without the excited and boisterous ruckus Team 7 is almost always associated with. Tenzou would rather have tea, just like this, in silence with Iruka, maybe even catch up on some reading himself.

But here he is, his heart racing under his ribcage as his stomach flips in all kinds of directions. Tenzou is forced to keep his feet on the ground and come up with excuses like he’s some sort of irresponsible, untrained, child. Here, he stands displaced, suspended in a sort of unknown yet known, with the ghost feeling of his feet brushing the ground but not quite entirely. Because they’re married, they’re together, they apparently look good together and Iruka isn’t a terrible person, nor is he unattractive.

Here, within the four walls of their shared apartment, they work well together.

There is a strange but not uncomfortable understanding hanging between them that requires no words. The kind that comes from patience that needs to be fostered for the long eleven month left waiting period. The kind that makes them move around each other like they’ve known each other the entire time, like they’re not strangers. Tenzou knows it stems from being hyper-aware of each other’s presence, of them being polite and accommodating to each other now that they’re stuck in this arrangement for the long haul. It comes from respect, perhaps a little bit of shame too, peppered by embarrassment.

But what is borne from it is something comfortable, warm, of shared coffees in the morning and late evening teas. 

And now, with their new arrangement for meal times, home cooked meals get added to that.

How does one simplify all that?

“No, we were not, Sai. And yes, Sakura, you’re right, marriages don’t work that way. But, well…” Iruka tapers off, reaching backwards to tug at his ponytail, a gesture that Tenzou knows, Iruka does when he’s trying to think. Iruka does this all the time when he’s grading his students’ worksheets, or when he’s planning his week’s lessons.

“We were drunk and got married by accident,” Tenzou blurts, crossing his arms across his chest, shrugging a shoulder as Naruto and Sakura’s jaw drops wide open while Sai nods slowly. “It happens.”

“So you’re married, but you’re not really — but you live together! Do you even do married stuff together like—“ Naruto inserts his index finger into a loop made by his other index and thumb.

“Oh boy,” Iruka exhales, and then reaches up and forward to clock Naruto on the side of his head.

“Ow! What!” Naruto explains, rubbing the side of his head. “It’s a legit question! That’s what getting married is for! And sorry, but Iruka-sensei you’re a guy and you don't have the lady parts to put a ding-dong in okay! Neither does taichou! Look, even Yamato-taichou is red in the face and—“

Sakura gives Naruto a smack upside the head for that, while her face turns purple because flushing red just isn’t cutting it anymore.

Sai raises his hand. “Well, Naruto, you’re actually quite wrong in your opinion and assessment of the matter. Consenting parties do not, in fact, require to be married in order to engage in sexual intercourse. I believe, the more correct question should be whether or not Yamato-taichou’s cock was used in anyway by Iruka-san and if they have engaged in anal intercourse—“ 

Tenzou cuts Sai off immediately, too late. “If you value your life, you will stop that line of speech. Immediately.”

“Anal?” Naruto prompts, his eyes squinting to almost thin slits, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“It means ass, Naruto!” Sakura all but screeches, before burying her face in her gloved palms.

“Oh, right, right, okay sure thing, I got it—wait, _what?!_ ” Naruto is suddenly on his feet, clamping both his ass cheeks like he is afraid for his life, as if there is a giant wild animal that is about to snap its giant jaws upon his vulnerable behind. “It goes in _there_?”

On the table, Iruka props his elbow on the counter and starts to rub his temple, like he’s warding a colossal headache while Tenzou just stands there, flushing to the last of his small toe. He didn’t want this conversation. He certainly did not want to be the person to explain to Naruto how the mechanics of two men fucking each other works. When quite frankly, he and Iruka aren’t even in that kind of situation. They’ve never even considered it.

Tenzou turns to look at Iruka, who is looking at him like the answer to this line of questioning is etched onto Tenzou’s very face. Iruka is flushed too, all the way down the curve of his neck, his nose wrinkling in utter distaste because it is quite a distasteful subject to discuss so openly like this. Especially when both of them are just trying to be civil to each other.

Not that Iruka is distasteful. Not at all, Tenzou thinks. In fact, looking at him now, Tenzou wonders if he would blush this red if he had a cock up his ass. If Iruka’s jaw would be pulled just as taut as it is now, as he adjusts himself, as he is filled with Tenzou’s thick, engorged cock. If Iruka would chew down on his lower lip, as he does now, in thought, like he’s trying to think but can’t quite think because how do you even think when you’re being filled too much, too soon? Tenzou certainly knows that he doesn’t think, he doesn’t have room to even process anything but the present moment whenever Kakashi pushes his cock up his ass, with him bent over and gripping onto the wall, the bedframe, or him being spread wide open, knees to his chest, fingers gripping at Kakashi’s forearms.

Tenzou tries to imagine Iruka’s hands wrapping around his forearms, holding on to him, shaking under him and well, it isn’t an ugly image at all.

In fact, Tenzou would very much like to have his way with Iruka’s body.

Would like to wrap the long strands of that silky hair, use it like a leash, wrap the long strands around his fist and push Iruka’s mouth over the head of his cock, watch him flush prettily like he does now. He’d want to taste golden skin upon his tongue, listen to Iruka’s breath stutter, feel the race of Iruka’s pulse under his own tongue as he pushes into Iruka’s body. Iruka would surely, be as red as he is now.

“Naruto,” Iruka suddenly says, sharp and clear. “You and your team have been allowed entry into our home for the time being because we wanted to reveal the truth to you. I am allowing this conversation to continue because I wanted to assure you that I have not failed my promise, that there is no reason for you to feel distraught for not being the best man at my wedding because it isn’t real.” Iruka stands slowly, and crosses his arm. “Now, Yamato-san and I have conveyed our truth to the three of you. You are extremely out of line and honestly, disrespectful for even bringing the topic of sex between myself and Yamato-san to the table. We have already mentioned to you that we are not in a relationship of any kind. So we will accept no further inquiries on the state of our relationship, or our dynamics, not after I feel we have adequately explained ourselves – do I make myself clear?”

Save for Sai’s rather eerie smile, Sakura and Naruto seems to have lost all color on their faces. They nod, chalky-faced, swallowing past whatever non-sense that might have wedged somewhere in their throat. Sakura, at least, has the decency to look away and flush to the roots of her hair.

Naruto remains guppy faced.

Tenzou is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to just want to wrap his arms around Iruka, lift him of the floor and pepper the crown of his glorious head with kisses and sing the highest praises.

No one even squeaks a noise.

How does Iruka do it? How does he get these impossible trio to just sit and be calm like the adults they’re supposed to be without resorting to a cage, threats or a snappy-temper? Tenzou knows that Kakashi handled team seven by just not handling them at all, opting instead to read and let them wreak havoc. Tenzou couldn’t quite do that.

“Good.” Iruka inhales deeply, and exhales even slower. “Now, finish your tea. And if neither three of you are opposed to it, I would be more than happy to invite you to lunch, provided that Yamato-san agrees.”

Iruka turns to look at Tenzou, blinking at him expectantly, patiently waiting for his reply, a small smile tugging around the corners of Iruka’s lips, dimples dotting his cheeks.

“Heh, I’m happy to eat anything Iruka-sensei cooks. Or ramen!” Naruto announces, grinning quite toothily. “I haven’t had Iruka-sensei’s cooking in forever! Man!”

Tenzou is still looking at Iruka when Iruka raises both eyebrows up at him, as if silently asking, _well_?

Tenzou looks at team seven. He’d much rather they all fuck off and leave them alone. Not wanting to be downer, however, he sighs, rubs the back of his head and nods, suddenly feeling like he’s sixty with arthritis. “Fine.”

“That’s great! Well, then, I hope the three of you don’t mind tuna steaks. Naruto, you’re paying for the tuna! I’ll make you a grocery list to go fetch with your teammates!” Iruka smiles.

“ _What?_ ” Naruto _cries,_ while Sai and Sakura just stares at him.

As Iruka picks up his tea, he gives Tenzou a grin and wink and if that just isn’t the sneakiest, cheekiest and attractive thing Tenzou has ever seen.

  
*

Lunch turns out to be a surprisingly civilised affair around the dining table that Tenzou had to end up creating an extra chair for. Lunch turns out to be sesame seared tuna steaks, served with a side of sesame and lemon sauce reduction, garnished with fresh lemon slices, toasted sesame seeds and chopped green onions. Iruka prepares shiraee, shredded ginger and cabbage salad, and steamed brocolli on the side. He prepares miso soup and accompanies the spread with generous steamed jasmine rice serving and umeboshi. He also prepares some sort of creamy dressing that Iruka provides Naruto a giant bowl of.

When questioned in the middle of the meal, Iruka explains that the only time he could convince Naruto to eat anything remotely green is if he prepares his favorite creamy sweet and sour salad dressing. Something that Naruto liberally dips his green vegetables into before popping it into his mouth, not at all disgusted.

Naruto calls it Iruka’s secret vegetable sauce.

Sakura and Sai seems to agree that it is, in fact quite delicious.

Tenzou finds he isn’t quite partial to it, given that the spread before him is a very well balanced meal. He stays quiet as Naruto narrates bits and pieces of their mission with Sakura, with Sai inserting a commentary that results in a bit of a shouting match across the table with chopsticks being pointed at each other, all while he and Iruka just tucks into their meals in a sedate pace, not at all bothered by the volume around them.

Tenzou, for one, can care less when the tuna is melting like butter at the tip of his tongue, just perfectly seasons with the lemon and soy sauce reduction, the crunch of toasted sesame releasing a burst of flavor with each crackle of seed in between his teeth. The soup is silky, creamy, warm and so filling as it slides past Tenzou’s tongue. Every grain of rice is chewy, seasoned with just a touch of salt that compliments each bite of the umeboshi and crunch of the ginger and cabbage salad. Even something as modest tofu and spring beans comes alive at the tip of Tenzou’s tongue, which he thinks, with just a bit of disgust, as he watches Naruto dip three spring beans into his salad dressing.

Gods, what a shame.

Tenzou thinks that there is no need to ruin a perfectly good dish with a creamy dressing.

But then, it goes to say just how deep Iruka and Naruto’s bond is. That Iruka would come up with a way to make Naruto consume his vegetables at a young age. That Iruka would go the extra mile and still prepare it for him to this very day, just to make sure that Naruto would eat his vegetables. In all the time Tenzou has spent as team seven’s commander, he honestly doesn’t think he’s ever seen Naruto consume this much vegetables with this much gusto.

It’s how he finds himself looking at Iruka again, watching him serve Sai his third cup of rice, watching him stand and give Sakura more soup, watching him roll his eyes when he pushes his share of tuna steak onto Naruto’s plate. He watches Iruka indulge on these three like they’re his own children, laughing when Sai says something remarkably witty that has Sakura snorting and Naruto glaring at him. Tenzou watches Iruka watch the three of them argue as he shakes his head, rolling his eyes up at the ceiling, a fond smile sitting broadly on his lips, dimples not once throughout their entire meal, winking out of existence.

It’s how Iruka turns and looks at Tenzou, seated adjacent to his right, the smile turning to something more questioning, the edge slipping off as Iruka tilts his head, not quite unpleasant, but more curious.

It’s almost a little cute, the concern that glimmers over the surface of Iruka’s eyes, how he sets his chopsticks down, as if ready to attend to whatever it is Tenzou might need.

Tenzou stares down at his plate, swallowing his bite, warmed at the chest in the middle of his comfortable, loud and organized chaos, in the wake of Iruka’s silent question, when he says, “This is delicious. Thank you.”

And Iruka can only smile broadly, warmly, the corners of his eyes softening. “You’re welcome, Yamato-san.”

*

Lunch becomes the occasional dinner.

Which becomes the occasional special breakfast that apparently, Naruto cannot stop talking about.

A special breakfast, is, Tenzou discovers, a ritual of sorts that Iruka indulges in on a Sunday morning, at six in the morning where he would have his hair up in a bun, dressed in his pajamas mixing batter in a bowl for different flavored pancakes. Special breakfast, apparently, is a spread of blue berry pancakes, topped with strawberry slices, orange slices cut into stars and a dollop of fresh cream on top. Special breakfast, apparently, is Naruto’s favorite treat and that just because Iruka doesn’t live alone anymore, doesn’t mean he can’t share

Special breakfast, apparently, becomes a team seven thing. A team seven thing that reaches Kakashi’s ears because he too, starts to show up at their doorstep at seven thirty in the morning, rubbing the back of his head, curious as Sakura and Sai arrange the table.

Because every Sunday, at six am, Tenzou finds himself waking up and helping Iruka chop up fruit, brew coffee and arrange a table that is now fit to house six grown people. Every Sunday after the third special breakfast when Kakashi’s presence starts to become a constant in their home for a few meals, Tenzou watches Iruka whip up an omelette and toast separately because Kakashi doesn’t eat anything sweet, finds the taste of pancakes a little too noxious.

“You don’t have to cook for him separately, you know?” Tenzou mutters, on their fourth Sunday, as Iruka beats some eggs into a bowl.

“And have the Rokudaime sit there with nothing but coffee? Come now,” Iruka chuckles. “It’s just eggs and toast, Tenzou-san. I don’t mind.”

“Still…” Tenzou mutters, rubbing the back of his head, but over all pleased to have Kakashi at least not be left out with just a cup of coffee.

“It’s nice though, isn’t it?” Iruka says one day, after Tenzou has lost count on how many Sundays they’ve been doing this. “Having your team over? It’s almost like having family over.”

There is a distant look in Iruka’s eye when he says that, as he watches Kakashi’s omelette cook in the pan, gently nudging the sides before he folds it over, something vulnerable in his gaze, something that makes him swallow. Tenzou doesn’t know what that looks means, when it’s almost melancholic, as Iruka chews on his lower lip and plates the omelette.

“Iruka-san, I’m comfortable and happy if you are. We don’t have to host every Sunday,” Tenzou responds with the truth.

“I am,” Iruka says, nodding slowly, the wrinkle between his forehead not at all disappearing, despite the smile he gives Tenzou.

Tenzou wonders about that, and finds himself thinking about it more often than he’s comfortable.

*

Sometimes it’s just Naruto and Sai coming by for dinner with a large salmon fillet. Sometimes, it’s Sakura dropping off tea cakes her mother has prepared for them. Sometimes it’s Kakashi showing up at dinner time with a large, generous portion of fresh sea bass slices or

But it all ends up the same:

They sit together, they dine together, they talk, and sometimes, even strategize training and missions while Iruka works on his student’s quizzes and workbooks, keeping mostly to himself once he’s put out the tea and snacks for them to share between themselves in the living room.

Iruka cooks their meals while Tenzou cleans up. They move around each other hosting either just Naruto, or Naruto and Sai, or Kakashi or the entirety of team seven, always in sync, always within each other’s orbit, dividing the task equally and without complaint.

That is, until one day, Kakashi off-handedly says from their sofa, nursing a food belly, “If I didn’t know better, I’d actually believe the two of you were really married. You two work well together. Look good together, too.”

That makes Iruka freeze.

Which in turn makes Tenzou freeze as he carefully watches Iruka blink at the open work book in front of him, his movement careful, slow, as his tongue darts out to lick his lips and his gaze carefully slides away, shying, embarrassed, a flush dusting over his cheeks.

The reaction makes something twist in Tenzou chest, makes him clear his throat as he washes down the urge to suddenly cough out of embarrassment with his cooling tea.

“Senpai…” Tenzou sighs, shaking his head, clearing his throat once more, warding away the pinch in his chest that he subconsciously rubs with a hand, wrinkling his t-shirt.

“Don’t worry, Rokudaime-sama. You still have a few months to enjoy meals here at our home. I suggest you take advantage and continue to be generous to the best of your ability,” Iruka tartly responds, even if the flush

“Maa, Iruka-sensei is a great cook! If Tenzou won’t seriously consider dating you, I would!” Kakashi sing-songs.

That makes Iruka burn an interesting shade of red.

“How nice and flattering. Ah, to be courted by the great Hatake Kakashi,” Iruka grumbles sarcastically, viciously marking the workbook in front him. “The door is that way, Rokudaime-sama. Please show your shameless self out at once.”

“Senpai, it’s time for you to leave,” Tenzou says, sighing, and proceeds to usher Kakashi’s laughing ass out of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea except let me know what you think? LMAO
> 
> Feel free to drop anons too at tumblr: pinkcatharsis


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd. 
> 
> Please read tags. Final warning!

The thing is, a part of Iruka always knew that this entire arrangement is going to come biting him in the ass one day.

Iruka had known from day one when he his gaze had brushed upon Tenzou’s form on their first evening together in the apartment after they had moved in, his eyes taking in the strong, broad stance of his shoulders, the narrow slope of his hips, the sharp line of Tenzou’s jaw and the narrow slope of his dark brows. How on the quietest of days, when it’s just the two of them minding their own business in the space of their shared living room, Tenzou would sit outside, the balcony door open, billowing the drapes they had agreed upon, while he leans against the railing, the length of his strong back relaxed with how Tenzou just braces his weight on his elbows, looking out at the village, something serene tugging at his usually neutrally polite expression.

Iruka had acknowledged then (more to himself), on their first night together, that Tenzou is a fatally attractive man.

Tenzou is attractive the way he is reserved, quiet, polite. He is attractive in the way his mannerisms manifests in carefully articulated and measured movements, like how his feet is always silent upon the ceramic floors of their home. He is attractive in the way he is silent, but not a thing goes amiss under his gaze. And when he smiles, however rare, in that lopsided, bemused, still very reserved way of his, Tenzou is incredible handsome with the way he ducks his head just so, as if smiling isn’t something he should be doing. Iruka doesn’t know if Tenzou is aware he does it, how his chin comes towards his chest, how his lips curls upwards more towards the left, pulling back to reveal straight teeth and implants, and the sharp line of his incisors, just ever so slightly longer than the rest. Tenzou would lick his lips then, as if reprimanding them for showing such a thing so openly, so casually, and the smile would disappear to something more flat lined, with the ever so slight curl in the corners of Tenzou’s lips.

Tenzou doesn’t smile with his eyes, but just with his mouth.

Iruka guesses it might have something to do with the fact that Tenzou is ANBU; Iruka has seen the red swirl of the tattoo on his left bicep that morning after at the hotel. He has seen it a few more times after, whenever Tenzou would rub at his arm in the mornings in the weekends, the sleeve riding up as he yawns and makes his way to the tap for a glass of water. The only thing that would be exposed of Tenzou’s face would be his eyes through the holes of the mask. It is probably why Tenzou’s gaze is so guarded, as still as a lake in winter, with nothing reflecting on its surfaces save for perhaps the reflection of the person looking right into it. It betrays nothing, it holds nothing.

Until they narrow down in their focus, that is.

Iruka has been at the receiving end of Tenzou’s focus, mostly on the days when he would come back from a funeral, trying to keep himself together, trying to keep busy with his work after having shoved his funeral blacks into bottom of the laundry hamper, hoping naively that maybe the cup of sake or the glass of whiskey would numb the hurt that after all these years, remains so painful still.

Tenzou’s focus would be on Iruka then, no more than a minute at most. Just long enough for Iruka to tip back the contents of his glass, set it aside and begin his academy work.

But it only takes a minute to make the hairs on the back of Iruka’s neck stand on edge. It takes a minute to undress Iruka completely, make him rub the back of his neck as if to soothe an ache that pulls his shoulders down.

It had taken a mere minute of quiet companionship, of soft words like, _that’s all they can do right? Try their best?_

And what had followed after, Iruka realizes now, as he stands there, holding a bag of freshly roasted walnuts, had been his own undoing.

From the get go, Iruka can honestly say that he finds Tenzou attractive. He is the exact kind of man Iruka would be interested in physically.

But what Iruka didn’t expect is to be drawn in to Tenzou’s gravity, like he’s nothing more than an asteroid, fleeting in its passing, now caught up in Tenzou’s orbit, drawing inwards, and inwards, and now he’s burning from the force of it all. It had taken one refreshing conversation for Iruka’s focus to subconsciously narrow down as precise as a laser beam.

Iruka realizes now, as he pays the merchant just how much he’s been paying attention to Tenzou’s likes and dislikes, how much he knows now, some nine weeks later.

Tenzou enjoys roasted walnuts, likes to snack on them in handfuls while he lounges on his sofa, watching re-runs of daytime soaps. Tenzou likes spinach gomaee and egg drop soup best. He likes to layer his rice bowl with pickles and salad sometimes, so that he gets a bit of a crunch amdist the grains of rice. Tenzou is open to trying anything and everything Iruka prepares, including curry, okonomiyaki, and hamburger steak. Tenzou cannot handle his spice, but tries all the same. Iruka had once prepare mapo-tofu for dinner, and had watched Tenzou wolf his meal down and ask for seconds, while washing down every bite with lemon soda, his face flushed, his nose as bright as a summer cherry along with the tips of his ears. Iruka had laughed then, openly, a little suddenly, and had been subjected to Tenzou pouting at being laughed at, like he’s no more than an academy student being given detention. Iruka had pacified him later with some home made pudding, something that Tenzou eats with his oolong tea, the flush on his face not at all abating.

Iruka remembers thinking how adorable Tenzou had looked, his strong hands working the small spoon into the bowl, scooping out each bite like he doesn’t want to waste a single morsel, broad shoulders kind of hunched forward.

Iruka remembers feeling affection swell in him, the way it always does when Naruto would ask for seconds. Because Tenzou doesn’t quite ask for seconds, but he gets this look, this sort of hesitant expression that flickers across his face in the space of a heartbeat. It’s so small, fleeting even, but Iruka has learned to read it, has learned to catch it and of course, as Iruka always does with their meals, Iruka hands him a second cup of pudding to enjoy.

Tenzou doesn’t ever need to use words around Iruka anymore.

Because Iruka understands his silence. He can read them and it had only taken short of two months to get this comfortable.

That realization, in and of itself, is what makes Iruka’s shoulders slump, as he helplessly hands over the payment for the roasted walnuts, tucking the small bag into his satchel.

The realization that he’s comfortable, that he likes this quiet companionship, the warmth that swells in his chest when he comes home, rare as it may be, after Tenzou. That as he hands Tenzou a bag of walnuts that is still warm to the touch, Tenzou grins, toothy, sheepish, rubbing the back of his head in that boyishly charming way of his, incisors exposed and open as it is most of the time now since their new agreement when it comes to meals.

And all Iruka can do is stand there, smile back and willfully try to make his heart stop racing like a war drum under his ribcage.

*

Because the truth of the matter is, Iruka is afraid of himself than he is of Tenzou.

The truth of the matter is, Iruka isn’t sure if he’s even equipped to handle this swarm of affection that seems to choke him each time he and Tenzou are in the same room. Whether they’re talking over dinner or simply sitting down in the living room reading, or it’s them playing host to team seven or Kakashi on Sundays.

The truth of the matter is Iruka knows exactly what courses through his veins. Which is why, he’s decided to stop looking at Tenzou, to try his best to just ignore the little signs and hints that reveals the man underneath the porcelain mask.

The truth of the matter is, Iruka knows he’s in too deep when one day, exactly two and a half months into their not-really-a-marriage, he finds himself missing Tenzou’s company when Tenzou gets sent away on a three-week long mission.

And now, with Tenzou gone, Iruka hates the fact that he has to go through the motions of being by himself again without the steady comfort of Tenzou’s calm, grounding presence. That he doesn’t – mayb never – wanted to be alone at all.

It is in the eerie, almost cold silence of the apartment that Iruka loudly allows himself to admit, well, _fuck_.

*

It’s that realization that he doesn’t want to be alone that makes Iruka chug shot after shot, recklessly, carelessly, giving fuck all even as two of his best friends stare at him with a bit of questioning look on their faces. The realization that he misses Tenzou’s presence more than he cares or is willing to admit, that it’s strange to cook now, even stranger still to get gentle pandering from Ayame and her father at the Ichiraku, saying things like, _ahhh, Iruka-sensei, you haven’t been here in a long while_ , or _ahhh, Iruka-sensei, who has stolen you away from us?_

“Slow down,” Izumo gently says, pulling the bottle of gin away from Iruka’s reaching fingers. “We’ve only started like half an hour ago. What’s the rush?”

 _The rush_ , Iruka doesn’t say, _is the fact that I miss him. I miss my not-really-husband._

Instead, Iruka takes a handful of potato chips and stuffs it into his mouth.

“Yeah, Iruka. After forever, we’re finally able to do this at your place. Don’t ruin it by being selfish and throwing yourself over the edge so quickly. Here, try these. They’re new,” Kotetsu says, shoving a packet of sweet-and-spicy crackers in Iruka’s direction.

Iruka takes some of the crackers and shoves that into his mouth too, squashing down the truth that is at the tip of his tongue, wanting to be set free to the world. They snack and drink in silence, the weight of his friends’ gazes heavy upon him, waiting for Iruka to say something about being married to Mokuton Yamato, to spill the details, to admit what a disaster this all is, or something.

But what they get instead is the unexpected silence and Iruka staring at the rim of his shot glass, a furrow between his brow, his chest squeezing tight. Tenzou has only been gone a week and now here he is, missing him as if he’s some stay-at-home househusband whose entire world solely depends on Tenzou.

Iruka knows he’s _mooning_.

That makes him laugh, sudden and guffawing, startling two his friends as he shakes his shot glass at them and gets poured half a shot.

“That bad, huh?” Kotetsu says, sympathizing, clearly drawing the wrong conclusion.

“You know, he didn’t come across as the type. I was thinking he’d be okay, at most,” Izumo adds, shrugging and filling his own shot glass.

“I wouldn’t call it bad, per se,” Iruka corrects, the idea that his friends might be getting a wrong impression of Tenzou not exactly sitting well with him. It seems wrong to not correct Izumo and Kotetsu; Tenzou is a great guy, after all. “He’s clean, he’s quiet, he’s organized. Very structured. Lots of discipline and order, there. He’s polite.”

“I see he’s ticking all your boxes,” Kotetsu _snorts_ , shaking his head in amusement.

“On a scale of one to ten, ten being the highest, how would you rate him?” Izumo

“Solid fifteen.” Iruka punctuates that with a nod, his heart fluttering under his chest as he reaches for the potato chips.

“ _Wow_ ,” Izumo dramatically gasps. “A _fifteen?_ ”

“Boy, watch your back, or you might just fall for the guy!” Kotetsu laughs _,_ clapping his hands. “He’s your type too. Tall, big, thick in the right places, has that serious thing going on with his face. Like a mystery~” Kotetsu gesticulates dramatically with his hands, like he’s parting curtains to reveal his face.

It sounds so funny when they put it that way that Iruka can only snort into his drink, getting alchol to shoot up his nose and burn his sinuses. He makes air bubbles in his shot glass, dropping alchol all over his front, half moaning in agony at the _burn_ and half laughing at the horrible reality he’s currently in because, the truth is, it’s too late for him. He’s fallen for the guy and his friends aren’t exactly wrong that Tenzou is exactly his type.

“You do have a thing for the serious eyebrows and sharp angled features, you know?” Izumo chortles, clapping Iruka on the shoulder and pushing the tissue box in his direction.

Iruka rolls his eyes, dabbing at the wet patch on his house t-shirt with a wad of tissues. “You two know me _so_ well.”

“Yeah, well, at least you’re going to have to endure this entire arrangement until the divorce with, as you always put it, a civilized man.” Kotetsu points. “Good for you! There’s only what, ten more months left? And besides, this apartment is a lot nicer than your old one.”

“Way nicer. More space!” Izumo grins.

“Well, don’t get used to it. I already have to deal with Sunday breakfasts with Rokudaime-sama and team seven. I don’t need to deal with you two, coming up with lofty ideas with the news space and—“ Iruka gets cut off.

“You have Sunday breakfasts with team seven and the Rokudaime?” Izumo sounds shocked, to which Iruka realizes is his mistake. So he nods. “ _Every Sunday_?”

“Well, it’s _almost_ every Sunday—“ Iruka tries to reasons.

“And what are we, chopped liver? Shit in a toilet? I mean, I know Naruto is your boy and well, you like kids in general, so Sakura and Sai isn’t a big deal. But the Rokudaime? What are you, sucking up to him?” Kotetsu frowns, crossing his arms across his chest with a huff.

Iruka opens his mouth and shuts it with a glare at his friend; where on earth did Kotetsu even get that idea from?

“Do you make the pancakes?” Izumo prompts.

Iruka tries not to flinch. Instead, he braces himself, and says, “Yes.”

There’s a series of huffs and hands being thrown up in the air. Kotetsu stands up from the chair, pacing, arms firmly crossed. Izumo starts taking all the snacks away from Iruka’s reach, putting it on his and Kotetsu’s side of the table.

“We’ve been asking for pancakes for almost six months! And now the Rokudaime gets to eat it every Sunday?!” Kotetsu points at Iruka. “Are you interested in him? Is that it? Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Are you kidding me?” Iruka deadpans, staring at his two friends.

“Do you put the blueberries?” Izumo gently asks.

Iruka tries not to sigh. “Well, they are in season—“

“You even put the blueberries!” Kotetsu whines, looking utterly disappointed.

“Fine, fine! Gods, okay! I’ll make you two idiots pancakes right now! I mean, it’s not my fault that team seven suddenly decided to turn our house into some sort of meeting point!” Iruka rants, standing up from his chair and marching straight for the kitchen, throwing cabinets open.

“ _Our_ house?” Izumo sounds amused.

“Yes! Our house! It’s not my fault that Rokudaime-sama happens to be team seven’s former commander and that when he had gotten wind that his team is having special breakfasts at Yamato-taichou’s house, he decides to tag along like a freeloader!” Iruka grabs the flower, the baking powder and baking soda off the shelf. “Even though he doesn’t eat the pancakes because Rokudaime-sama is in fact not interested or keen on anything sweet! Not that I make it _that_ sweet to begin with!” Iruka slams the cupboard shut and bends over another cabinet, fishing out a mixing bowl. “And just so you two idiots know, it’s more work for me!” Iruka pops up and points the whisk at them. “I have to make eggs and toast separately for the Rokudaime! He doesn’t like my pancakes!”

Izumo and Kotetsu stares owlishly at him.

“Well that’s a damn shame,” Izumo retorts.

“Right?” Kotetsu looks at him, agreeing.

“And now that you two have successfully!” Iruka puts the bowl down on the counter, aggressively scooping out flour, sugar and other dry ingredients while glaring at his two friends, punctuating each word by cracking an egg into the bowl. “Emotionally—“ crack “—manipulated—“ crack “me into doing this, I want the both of you to eat every single bite. If you don’t finish this—“ crack “—so help me, I will ladle cayenne pepper into your fucking nostrils.”

Izumo and Kotetsu blinks in unison as Iruka viciously mixes the batter.

“You know, you really do have a temper problem,” Kotetsu gently says.

“Shut up and go pick up some blueberries from the market!” Iruka snaps, pointing the whisk at him again.

Kotetsu didn’t need to be told twice.

*

“So does he like it?” Izumo asks, as he cleans up the table, setting it up for the late dinner, putting the alcohol away. “Yamato-san.”

“Like what exactly?” Iruka asks, keeping his back turned as he watches the pancake cook slowly on the stove, gently sticking his spatula under it to check bottom before flipping it over.

“Special Iruka breakfasts,” Izumo prompts. “It’s your dad’s recipe, isn’t it?”

Iruka shrugs, just as something constricts in his throat, the image of Tenzou flashing behind his eyelids. Tenzou doesn’t just like the pancakes; he loves them. And although he doesn’t slather as much syrup and butter like Naruto, blueberry compote like Sai or cream like Sakura, Tenzou still manages to always eat a generous stack every Sunday, a ghost of a smile tucked behind each bite that he washes down with coffee or sometimes, hibiscus tea. Tenzou doesn’t like anything on his pancakes. He enjoys it as it is, piping hot and not even buttered. He likes taking some of the slightly burnt ones too, the ones that ends up with a slightly crispier edge, happy to take them when the three teenagers would shy away from them.

“He eats everything I make,” Iruka answers, plating the ready pancake and pouring more batter into the buttered pan. “He’s not a very picky eater.”

“I mean you’re not a bad cook. You’re okay. And honestly, you know Kotetsu and I are only crazy over your pancakes. Everyone who’s tried it says the same, so, is Yamato-san’s eats everything like, yeah, he loves it, or yeah, it’s food so whatever?” Izumo asks.

Which makes Iruka stare unseeingly at the pancake cooking in front of him for a long time.

Because there is truth in Izumo’s words. Iruka isn’t a bad cook when he does decide to cook. They’re a threshold or two above average, maybe, when it comes to certain dishes. They’re mostly the ones Iruka had to re-learn by himself through visual memory of helping his mother and father in the kitchen over the years when Naruto had been younger. More often than not, experimenting and trying to get the right mix, the right amount, the right temperature had been a challenge all on its own. More often than not, trying to remember his mother and father’s recipes had been a painful experience and a lot of guesswork, always accompanied by I should have spent more time with her, I should have helped her more, I should have paid more attention than wanting to play.

It's like that, when you lose your most precious loved ones.

Chasing his mother and father’s ghost around the kitchen had been a learning curve. And although Iruka’s own cooking doesn’t hold a candle to what his parents used to prepare back then, whatever he has managed to settle on, it had been more than enough to feed a small, starving young boy who knew nothing better than instant cup ramen. Everything else, Iruka had to figure out by following recipe-cut-outs from a magazine.

But now, apparently, those very recipes that he had to guess, relearn and make do with is more than enough for a man of Tenzou’s rank and stature. Other than his two friends, Iruka doesn’t cook for anyone else and rarely does so with Naruto after he made genin. Iruka feels that the only reason team seven is even almost always present in their home is because Naruto spends most of his time watching Tenzou closely, looking for anything suspicious despite being told that they are not actually together.

It’s sweet.

It’s cute.

Absolutely heart warming; Iruka can’t deny that.

However, it means Iruka is subjected to spending more time around Tenzou than necessary. This means, as team seven continuously come over to plan, strategize or just hangout, Iruka and Tenzou are both together in that very moment. This means Iruka gets to watch Tenzou tuck into meals that Iruka thinks aren’t the best out there but gets treated like it’s a feast.

Tenzou says thank you with something grateful glimmering in his gaze, warm and truly thankful, where he would nudge Iruka a bit at the shoulder when Iruka would join him to dry the dishes, as if to say, no, go sit down, I got this.

Iruka dries it anyway, and Tenzou would just sight, give him a bit of a exasperated look and then prepare tea.

There’s nothing great about having special Sunday breakfasts at Iruka-sensei’s house because it just means Iruka is falling deeper and deeper and deeper and he is powerless to it.

(He would never say no to Naruto, after all.)

“Iruka! It’s burning!” Izumo crows.

Iruka blinks, his attention snapping at the pancake that is charred on the pan, carelessly reaching forward and touching the tip of his three fingers on the edge of the hot pan, hissing when he yanks it back, burned. He curses, reaching forward again to turn the stove off, quickly grabbing the pan by the handle this time and dumping the burnt pancake into the trash, tossing the pan into the sink and running the cold water. Steam erupts with a hiss, as Iruka cradles his burnt fingers and curses at himself for wallowing on thoughts of Tenzou that is, quite frankly, useless.

It won’t change anything. It won’t improve anything. It won’t mean anything.

What is the point of thinking about someone to this degree? When that someone is a person you are in a civilized agreement with to end this farce of marriage patiently with minimal problems? Something that you agreed on because you didn’t want to be labelled a cheat? Someone who honored your request, at that?

“You okay?” Izumo asks. When Iruka looks up at him, Izumo’s expression blanks for a moment, as he stares at Iruka for a long time. “Iruka…? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Iruka lies, and swallows, blinking away from his friend and giving him his back. “I’m fine. Could you wash the pan please? I’ll put something on this…”

*

Iruka spends the rest of the night mostly trying not to be withdrawn as he stuffs his face with pancakes alongside his friends. He pretends that he doesn’t notice the leading questions Izumo seems to be asking about Tenzou, things like, is Yamato-san like the other jounin and sees you as a paper-pusher, or is Yamato-san judgemental of your rank, or is Yamato-san one of those types who thinks that you’re just an Academy teacher.

Yamato-san this and Yamato-san that.

Iruka tries to keep it neutral. He tries to not let anything slip past his lips. Anything that may betray the affection and need to correct his friends when they purposely say something crass or wrong about Tenzou.

It’s all bait.

Iruka knows this.

Which is probably his only saving grace.

Because if he didn’t know his best friends at all, they would have walked out of his apartment with pity on their faces, armed with the knowledge that Iruka is head over heels over his not-really-husband. The fact that Tenzou is attractive honestly doesn’t help Iruka at all.

*

Because Iruka wakes up one morning slowly and lazily, his face pressed onto the backrest of Tenzou’s sofa, the smell of musk, cedar trees, and amber filling flooding his senses, filling his lungs, suddenly grounding him to the present as the heat of his morning arousal presses between the clench of his legs, all while Iruka helplessly mushes his face into the sofa fabric.

Tenzou always smelled so fresh, like Konoha’s towering forests in spring, calm and cool with just a slithering touch of heat under it to bely something dangerous under his very collected exterior.

Iruka turns to lie on his back, right there in the middle of Tenzou’s sofa, staring at the ceiling, his cock incredibly hard in his pants as brings the back of his hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and exhaling a sigh at the ceiling before he gets up to throw himself under the cold shower.

Where he tells himself just this once, to get the edge of, he tells himself it’s okay to imagine the warm length of Tenzou’s body pressing against his back, strong arms wrapping around him. It’s okay to imagine that lopsided smirk pressing against Iruka’s ear, as Tenzou hums something bemused at Iruka’s state – desperate, wanton, hot, his hands stroking the length of his cock with a ferocity that is more suited for someone in their teenaged years. Iruka touches himself, strokes himself, leaning his head back and imagining that it gets pillowed on Tenzou’s shoulder, his hips arching just so, and what he imagines to be a large, engorged cock pushing into his body, because he’s seen Tenzou in sweatpants.

Hell, he’s seen Tenzou naked for fuck’s sake.

Iruka comes with a soft cry at the ceiling, tapering off in a long moan, coming hard and desperate against the tiles, cum washing down with the cold spray and swirling to non-existence down the drain.

Just this once, Iruka tells himself.

Just this once is okay.

*

Except just this once becomes a frequent thing, all through out the period of Tenzou’s absence.

Just this once becomes Iruka picking up a large stick on dildo from the sex store, and fucking himself on it almost every night.

Just this once becomes a frequent morning session of touching himself until he’s breathing out the syllables of Tenzou’s name, so lost in his fantasy that has no hopes of coming true at all.

Not in this arrangement.

That would be so, so wrong.

It’s never just this once.

Not with Iruka.

*

Which is why, by when the third week goes by and team seven shows up with Kakashi at the apartment with no Tenzou in sight, Kakashi ends up being mostly quiet.

“Yamato-taichou isn’t back yet?” Naruto prompts.

“Not yet,” Iruka says, setting a tray of pancakes on the table and a plate of eggs and toast in front of Kakashi.

“Don’t worry, Iruka-san. Yamato-taichou is very capable,” Sai offers.

“He really is!” Sakura adds, nodding.

“I – I’m not worried,” Iruka says, caught off guard. “I’m aware of Yamato-san’s skills and, I’m – I’m not worried at all…”

“You look worried to me,” Naruto grumbles, a mouthful of pancakes.

“Well, I’m not!” Iruka huffs, turning away. “I am confident in Yamato-san’s skills. Sai is right. Sometimes unforeseen things can happen that may cause a delay. He’s probably already on his way back!”

*

“I’ll let you know once he’s back,” Kakashi whispers, as he approaches Iruka and picks up the dish towel, picking up one of the plates on the rack and drying it.

“Kakashi-sama, you don’t need to do that. Please, just make yourself comfortable—“

“Tenzou is strong, Iruka. Have faith in that,” Kakashi murmurs, whisper-soft.

Iruka grips the edge of the sink, irritation flaring in him like no other as he turns to glare at the Hokage, only for the fight in him to leave him when Kakashi turns to look return his glare with what looks like a silent apology softening the corners of his eyes.

“I’m not worried,” Iruka says, stubborn, an outright lie. “Yamato-san and I aren’t even – we’re not! You _know_ we’re not. I am sure he’s fine! And I am not worried!”

If Kakashi doesn’t believe him, he doesn’t show it.

*

But the worry festers like an infection.

It turns Iruka’s sleep restless, disturbed, plagued by dreams of blood and Tenzou’s eyes reflecting no light, staring up at an unknown starry sky somewhere that leaves Iruka sitting up with a strangled gasp, his heart jackhammering in his chest.

It turns Iruka to something quiet, distracted, that one day, sometime around the end of the sixth week, Iruka sits up at dawn all of sudden when he feels the barest whisper of a presence press into the quiet of their shared home. Iruka holds still, listening to the presence that gets punctuated by soft, barely perceptible thumps and then the sound of the shower running.

Iruka doesn’t realize how his lungs seems to fill with air for the first time in what feels like a long time.

He doesn’t realize how he slumps back down on his bed, closes his eyes in relief and falls asleep undisturbed for the first time in weeks.

*

That night, Iruka comes home after his shift and prepares all of Tenzou’s favorite.

That night, Tenzou steps out of his room looking terrible, a lot slenderer, the jut of his collarbone and jaw more defined, tired, a little flushed around the cheeks and coughing behind a fist. Tenzou smiles though, and places a small drawstring bag of dried pineapples on the table.

“Welcome back, Tenzou-san,” Iruka says, the words rolling past his lips with far too much affection than Iruka is comfortable with.

He can’t help it. Seeing Tenzou now puts him at ease in a way that he hasn’t been for weeks.

“It’s good to be back,” Tenzou says, coughing behind a fist and gesturing towards the small bag on the counter. “Got that for you. It’s apparently good.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you. You didn’t have to,” Iruka says, looking at the small bag on the counter as he ladels soup into bowls. “I hope you have an appetite.”

“Is that kakitamajiru?” Tenzou asks, grinning.

“It is,” Iruka nods, setting down the steaming bowl on the island.

“Ahhh, Iruka-sensei has made my favorite! Lucky!” Tenzou impishly sing songs, acting like he’s one of Iruka’s academy students. “What else did you make?”

“Oyakodon,” Iruka says, as he plates a generous bowl for Tenzou and sets it in front of him. “You look like shit by the way, so here. Eat up. You’ve been gone a while and I can only imagine what your mission must have been like.” Iruka’s heart does interesting leaps and bounds when Tenzou quietly stares at him, the smirk growing wider and wider until it’s a full on smile that Tenzou tucks away by ducking his head. “What?”

“I understand now why Naruto doesn’t like worrying you,” Tenzou mutters, taking out a pair chopsticks from the holder on the island and picking up his soup bowl. “A worried look on your face, Iruka, is not something that suits you.”

“I – I wasn’t worried!” Iruka retorts helplessly, the heat flooding his face and burning all the way down past the collar of his shirt. “Oh just eat and be quiet!”

Tenzou’s bemused chuckles, only serves to make Iruka flush even redder.

When Tenzou ends up coughing, Iruka chides him and quickly hands him water, telling him that’s what he gets for making fun of him in the first place.

*

But the coughing, apparently, ends up bringing with it a fever that leaves Tenzou mostly bed ridden with a bad case of flu. It leaves Tenzou’s entire body aching, his back and head throbbing as he continuously dry coughs with a ferocity that leaves his abdominals and his upper back in pain. Moving hurts. Just flexing his fingers and toes hurts.

It’s how Iruka finds him, curled under the blanket, painkillers, fever reducers and cough syrup by his night stand. Iruka who immediately makes him tea, who tells him that he’s burning up, who on the clock hydrates him, makes him a glass of ginger tea, puts fever patches on his forehead, armpits and inner thighs.

Tenzou doesn’t know how long Iruka does this, because he fades in and out of it.

What he does know, however, is that one morning, he wakes up to this:

Iruka is seated on an arm chair by his bed, head turned to the side, fast asleep, a lesson planner open on his lap and a pen still held in a writing position. There is a certain mild stickiness on Tenzou’s skin, something that comes with breaking and sweating a fever out. His body no longer hurts but his lower extremities still tingles.

He must have caught something on his back from Snow.

Tenzou isn’t worried, however, because this kind of thing happens to him at least once every year.

What he didn’t expect is Iruka to nurse him through it all.

Tenzou sits up in bed which stirs Iruka awake. Iruka blinks owlishly at him for a moment, as if trying to gather his thoughts before he realizes that Tenzou is in fact sitting up, is awake and moving. The lesson planner claps shut immediately, is set on the ground as a worried, fretting expression replaces the sleepy-alert face Iruka previously had on.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling?” Iruka asks, a bit of mild hysteria in his tone.

“Sore. Better. How long was I out for?” Tenzou asks, accepting the glass of water and downing it in one long thirsty gulp.

“Four days,” Iruka says, his eyebrows knitting with worry. “I – honestly, I would have taken you to the hospital sooner. But you said no…”

“I did?” Tenzou rubs the back of his head, finding that odd. “Huh.”

“You did…” Iruka sighs. “Do you feel brave enough to shower and change? I want to get these sheets off your bed and air room out a bit.”

“A shower sounds great,” Tenzou groans and pushes the covers off him. “I’m going to owe you for this.”

“You can buy me cake some day if that makes you feel better.” Iruka shoos him away with his hand. “Now go, you smell funny.”

“Iruka-sensei is making fun of me~” Tenzou sing-songs, grinning tiredly the entire way he makes his way to the bathroom.

*

Tenzou buys cake for Iruka everyday because Iruka continues to care for him. While the fever breaks completely and Tenzou has mostly received a clean bill of health, the cough remains stubborn.

He makes sure to find the cutest cakes in the bakeries all around Konoha, the kind civilian girls would flock around and line up for, just to see Iruka blush and _stare_ at the box contents with a bit of shock.

It’s funny.

It’s also just a little cute.

Iruka makes him ginger tea every night. He prepares warm citrus drinks. Iruka does everything in his power to ensure that Tenzou is comfortable, even though Tenzou would bat a hand in Iruka’s direction telling him that he’s fine, all as he coughs behind a fist, sounds like he’s about to hack up his entire respiratory system.

It feels that way too.

The coughing leaves Tenzou’s throat sore, almost painful some mornings, rubbed raw from the all hacking. Two weeks later, it shows no sign of getting better. If anything, Tenzou swears it’s getting worse.

It’s not like he hasn’t gone to seek medical attention, because he has. He’s already on his second bottle of cough syrup and anti-histamine; it doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Tenzou ends up coughing in the middle of dinner, ends up doubled and folded over, his head pressing on the table as he coughs and coughs and coughs, only to realize that Iruka is rubbing circles on his back,

“Tenzou-san, I don’t think you’re getting better,” Iruka says softly, worry and concern painted all over his face.

It’s not exactly a nice thing to look at.

“It’s really stubborn isn’t it?” Tenzou says, frowning as he blinks the tears out of his eyes, rubbing his chest. “It doesn’t usually last this long.”

“When was the last time you had a cough this bad?” Iruka asks.

“Last year. It was nowhere this bad,” Tenzou sighs, clearing his throat, fingers reaching up to massage his Adam’s apple. “I’ll be okay, Iruka-san. Don’t worry. This will pass.”

“Okay…” Iruka falls quiet for a moment, looking unsure. “But please, Tenzou-san, promise me you’ll see a medic tomorrow.”

“I promise…”

*

An x-ray shows that Tenzou’s lungs has white spots all over it. He is given a course of intense antibiotics with strict instructions to be pulled out of active duty until his pneumonia passes. Tenzou comes home and explains this to Iruka, sighing, so tired after having spent the entire day pretty much coughing, as he drops himself heavily on the sofa.

He tells Iruka all this.

“At least now you know! Please consider this period of rest a good time to fully recuperate. Your body probably needs if the infection is that bad.” Iruka says, not unkindly. “Here.”

Tenzou wraps his hands around a mug of ginger tea, something he takes a long sip of and sighs, leaning his head pack on the sofa, the mug resting on his kneecap. “Thank you. Not just for this but for everything…”

“You can thank me once you have recovered one hundred percent, Tenzou-san.” Iruka sits across from Tenzou, nursing his own tea. “And I haven’t done anything more than anyone else would for a comrade.”

Tenzou stares at the ceiling at that, swallowing.

Iruka has no idea just how much of his compassion and care can actually mean to anyone, does he? Tenzou smiles a little at the humbleness, at how Iruka just does his best for everyone around him, how he expresses empathy and care when he really doesn’t have to. He owes Tenzou nothing, as far as Tenzou can tell. There had been no need for Iruka to spend hours nursing him to health, going as far as preparing him okayu or hachimitsu-daikon. The fact that Iruka had spent those four days by his bed fighting a fever had been beyond enough.

But that’s just the kind of man Iruka is, right?

Kind to a fault, accommodating to the point that he’d twist himself to a pretzel, patient as a deity, and oh so understanding.

Tenzou finds himself looking at Iruka who is now leaning against the backrest of his sofa, feet tucked under a cushion, a book propped open on a hand, taking sips of his tea as he catches up on his reading.

He’s missed this, Tenzou realizes, just watching Iruka _be_. It’s the one thing he couldn’t wait to come home to, silly as it may be. Tenzou understands that now, here, in this moment, now that he is vulnerable and frankly just exhausted of trying to fight of an infection that apparently, is going to get worse before it can get better.

Tenzou brings the cup to his lips to take a sip, only to end up in a vicious coughing fit that robs him of his energy that he just waves Iruka off and throws himself to bed.

*

Tenzou tells himself not to get used to waking up and finding breakfast arranged on a tray.

Tenzou tells himself not to get used to seeing iruka’s concern and care all around the house, how the entire living room and kitchen has been dusted clean, sanitized and wiped down, all to ensure nothing triggers Tenzou’s cough.

He tells himself not to get used to Iruka’s warmth, him handing Tenzou cups of tea, warm citrust drinks, soup bowls after soup bowls.

He tells himself that Iruka rubbing his back when the coughing gets so bad is nothing. It’s just Iruka being an understanding comrade.

He tells himself that the warm touch of Iruka’s hands does nothing to soothe the cough, even though it makes him feel better. But it’s an empty gesture. It doesn’t provide physical relief in any shape or form.

Tenzou tells himself, angrily, with mounting irritation as he becomes the cause for Iruka to continuously look worried and concern, that he really needs to get a hold of himself, fight this infection off better, that his body is frankly, being quite troublesome for not fighting this entire thing off sooner.

That he hates seeing Iruka get worried over him.

That he hates how it mars that beautiful face to something unsightly, how it darkens Iruka’s features, makes him less bright, a little too small, shoulders hunched and gods, Iruka really is a worry-wart, isn’t he? Naruto hadn’t been exaggerating.

So when that expression comes on Iruka’s face, Tenzou tells him he’s fine.

It’ll go, he reassures Iruka, as he pops an anti-histamine tablet with the home cooked dinner that he tells himself, once more to not get used to. It’s just a tickle at the back of my throat, he adds, trying to placate the worried look on Iruka’s face.

*

Until one day, the coughing just doesn’t stop.

The coughing, seems to have caused something to wedge somewhere in his throat and suddenly Tenzou can’t breathe.

Fuck, he can’t breathe, as he grabs the edge of the dinner table and suffocates, rattling bowls, and plates and their tea cups, chopsticks crashing to the ground unable to quite cough, unable to speak, unable to verbally say that he needs to get to the hospital. When all he can do is scramble at Iruka’s shoulders, grasp at him, pleading for help, staring at the panic and words he can quite hear leaving Iruka’s lips.

Until, that is, Tenzou violently _coughs_ again and again and right there in the middle of the tiled floor from where both he and his accidental spouse is kneeling, Tenzou reaches into his throat to pull out and gag a large, bunched up whole hibiscus flower, petals crumples up together in sticky, coppery syrup that falls wetly, loudly, on the clean tiled floor.

Then the coughing stops, gossamer strands of crimson connecting Tenzou’s mouth to the mess on the floor, as he stares at it, his chin heaving faster, faster, faster, black spots appearing around the corners of his eyes as he stares at the flower – the whole fucking flower – on the floor in utter shock, every part of him shaking, trembling, his mind racing in panic because that’s not normal. That’s not fucking normal. That’s not right! It’s not right! It’s not fucking right!

And when Tenzou looks up, he finds Iruka scrambling to catch him, as his world tips off to the side and the black spots around the corners of his eyes consumes the rest of his vision. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According plant symbolism wikipedia, red daisy means beauty unknown to the possessor. I will be sticking to this wikipedia source through out the fic.


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> I'm just gonna say it now THAT I HATE THIS FUCKING CHAPTER WITH A PASSION UGH AND IT'S PROBABLY OBVIOUS.

Iruka catches Tenzou before Tenzou hits the ground, getting blood and saliva all over his shoulder and shirt, his hand cupping Tenzou’s face, cradling Tenzou’s head and shoulder in his arms. Iruka tries to shake him awake, rolling Tenzou’s body a bit more on his back, giving firm taps across his cheek and gets no reaction.

Tenzou remains out cold, probably from the shock of coughing out something no human is supposed to cough at all.

Iruka kneels there, his heart thundering in his chest, a roar in his ears, staring at the mess of a flower, the crumpled crimson petals, covered in sticky phlegm, fluid and clear films of saliva. He remains kneeling there for a few seconds that stretches out far too long, like years, his entire body suspended in stasis, as he cradles the warm body in his arms, staring at the horror on the ground, the very thing that had fueled panic in Tenzou, when Tenzou is calm, so collected, so controlled. All around them, there is a cacophonic mess of tea, soup, rice and pickles, of utensils and broken porcelain, and right there, in the bloody middle of it, is Tenzou, his face marred in red, lips slighted parted, face slack into a relaxed line like he didn’t just spend seconds clawing at his chest and throat, like he didn’t just stick his fingers into his mouth and pull something that shouldn’t even be there.

Iruka snaps back to reality like he’s been dropped from the top of the Hokage tower.

One second he’s staring at the blood soaked flower on the ground.

The next he’s grabbing the cling film roll from the cupboard, tearing a large part and scooping up the bloody flower on the floor. He’s shoving the securely wrapped specimen in his pocket, and then kneeling down to pick up Tenzou in his arms, Tenzou’s head resting on Iruka’s shoulder, his entire weight making Iruka brace his core, grunt with the heavy lean muscle mass that seems to want to weigh him down on his already shaking and weak knees before he shunshins out of the apartment and right there on to Konoha’s hospital reception.

Iruka is greeted by a flurry of suddenly alert medics, a gurney immediately brought towards him where he settles Tenzou on top of it and follows the medics under the fluorescent lights into an examination room.

Sakura, Iruka says, and when no one hears him, he barks her name out sharper, insistent and will settle for no one else.

Minutes later, Sakura appears and Iruka turns to meet her wide eyed just for a heartbeat stare, before she pushes forward and tells Iruka to wait outside, that’s she’s got this, she’ll look into it, just please have a seat, Iruka-sensei, we don’t want you fainting too, hmm?

Iruka is guided away from Tenzou’s body, where tubes and wires are already being unfurled, an intravenous line already being inserted, Sakura’s green chakra glow illuminating the room just as Iruka is guided out to the waiting room and told to sit down.

*

Iruka’s hands are shaking.

They won’t stop shaking.

He sits there for who knows how long, barefoot in his sweatpants and t-shirt, blood smears on his front, cradling the cling-wrapped bloodied mess of a flower in both hands, staring at it as his thoughts begin to spiral out of control.

This isn’t normal.

None of this is normal.

Iruka has never, in all his years of study, research and working in the Academy, heard of anyone coughing out an entire flower. A part of him wonders if maybe it’s an after effect of a jutsu, something Tenzou may have encountered in his previous long mission. But then, logically, that kind of jutsu would require a seal of some sorts, the kind that can be a slow release, the kind that would surely require a steady source of chakra. Iruka isn’t sure if it’s possible to inflict damage and make the after effect manifest like a disease over time; if it’s possible, perhaps, in the context of a Yin release. It would have loopholes, it would require a trigger too, maybe by the person inflicting the jutsu. And even then, how can one store a flower in one’s throat, or lungs, or wherever in the body? Did it require a combination of yin and douton?

It seemed far too complicated, if not out right impossible.

Unless the person who inflicted this happens to possess some kind of bloodline limit, the kind that can inflict jutsu that will result in what had happened that night over a great distance. Assuming there’s a great distance.

Assuming the enemy isn’t within Konoha’s walls.

But then, Tenzou had been sick too. Severely so. The fever had run high for four straight days before it broke.

Iruka ponders the idea of poison. It seems a lot more feasible than along distance yin releases with a combination of douton and some unknown bloodline limit.

But then what kind of poison would make someone cough out an entire and very whole flower, though?

Iruka stares at the wrapped specimen in his hands, watching his waxy fingers shake, as he tells himself, over and over again, that the thundering fear in his chest that makes his feet and knees numb is nothing more than his amygdala pinged, that he must, at this very moment, try to remain objective, wait patiently for Sakura and her team to come out of the examination room with some sort of prognosis. That surely, there must be a very reasonable explanation for all this.

But Sakura doesn’t come out. Not immediately.

Not for a while, even.

And when she does, there is a look of utter confusion and concern on her face, her fingers snapping gloves off and tossing it to the nearby biohazard bin in the hallway, her steps pensive as she approaches Iruka and the chaos from within the examination room reaches Iruka’s ears.

It’s the sound of chaos that makes Iruka look up at Sakura’s pinched expression.

“W-What’s going on, Sakura?” Iruka asks.

“We have to operate immediately,” Sakura says, her lips pressing a thin line. “There is – there are – I am not quite sure how to explain, Iruka-sensei. But there is malignant growth in Yamato-taichou’s air passage. We’ve already requested for his medical records but right now, the growth is present and it’s preventing us from even administering an respirator. You are his legal kin, Iruka-sensei. We need your permission to operate.” Sakura frowns, lines appearing between her brows as she looks on at Iruka rather helplessly.

“I…” Iruka opens his mouth and closes. Iruka doesn’t think he has the right to make that call, doesn’t think he should cross that line. The Hokage would be a more fitting person to make the call, as the highest authority in the village. Iruka opens his mouth to speak, blinks and fails to form words.

“Iruka-sensei…” Sakura swallows, kneeling before Iruka, taking his hands in hers. “We can’t afford to waste more time.”

“O-Of course—yes, of course. You must help him. Do what you can to save his life!” Iruka blurts, blinking rapidly, shaking, just shaking, that Sakura’s hands tightens around his. “I – whatever you need to do, Sakura. He – uh – he coughed this out before he lost consciousness. I don’t know… I just…”

“I’ll have a medic send it to the laboratory for immediate analysis. Iruka-sensei, you’re going to have to fill out some paper-works as taichou’s husband. A nurse will assist you, okay?” Sakura’s hands squeeze Iruka’s, firm and reassuring.

“Right. Yes, okay,” Iruka says, nodding numbly, handing the cling-wrapped specimen to Sakura who takes and quickly stands to return to the

Two minutes later, Iruka watches Sakura lead her team with Tenzou on a gurney towards the operating theater. Iruka is left sitting there, staring after Tenzou’s disappearing unconscious figure past the swinging doors.

*

Iruka thinks the nurse pities him when she has to point out each and every single box that he needs to fill. There is information pertaining to Tenzou that Iruka has no knowledge about. There are things about his medical history that Iruka honestly has no clue what to put in.

He sits there, clipboard on his lap, staring at it with his heart in his throat, looking at the nurse rather helplessly and trying to figure out a way to explain to this professional that yes they are married, that yes he is Tenzou’s legally wed spouse, but that they aren’t exactly like that either. How does he explain to this professional and not waste her time further that he and Tenzou have been living together for almost three and a half months and Iruka still knows nothing about Tenzou’s basic information? What good would it be to be armed with the knowledge that Tenzou is intelligent, is actually quite patient, has a teasing streak to him and a wit to match his handsome face? What good is it to Iruka to know of Tenzou’s mannerisms, the way he smiles, the way he ducks his head, the way his mouth is expressive but his eyes remain blank, the way the tenors of his voice can calm Iruka’s nerves, his presence ever so grounding, even in all its stillness and silence? What good is it to know that Tenzou’s presence is like sitting next to a fire on a cold weather, warm and comforting, the kind that can encase you in a safety bubble, the kind that makes the quiet in their shared apartment not exactly quiet, but peaceful, a kind of companionship that many yearns for, spend their whole life searching for?

What good is any of that when it isn’t the kind of information the document on clipboard needs?

“Ah, do you need help with that?”

Iruka looks up at the Rokudaime, standing there without his robes and hat, hands in his pockets, looking down at Iruka with an unreadable look in his eyes.

It’s like ice going down the length of his back, sobering Iruka immediately when he quickly hands over the pen and clipboard to Kakashi, who takes it wordlessly and effortlessly fills out all the information that Iruka couldn’t.

Something about that makes Iruka look away, shame burning on the apples of his cheeks, along with a self-hatred for being so foolish to think for a moment that he’d be able to pull this off, when he should have just told the nurse that he isn’t equipped to do this, embarrassment and humiliation be damned. That indeed, the best person to probably fill out this kind of document would be no other than the Rokudaime himself.

Iruka keeps looking at his feet, long after Kakashi hands over the clipboard to the nurse, her footsteps rushing back to the nurses’ station to give the Hokage and Iruka some semblance of space and privacy.

“We were supposed to go out for drinks but he didn’t show,” Kakashi states, as if that is an explanation in and of itself as to why he is present. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Iruka says slowly, pressing his shaking hands to his knees, grasping at them, hoping to stop the quakes already; it’s been over an hour. Tenzou is in good hands. “You know he’s been ill since he came back. We were having dinner. And he just—“ The words catch in Iruka’s throat, as the image of Tenzou struggling to breathe flashes in his mind, desperate fingers clawing at his throat and chest, grasping at his t-shirt fabric in a futile attempt to get air into his chest. Tenzou had looked scared. Tenzou had looked panicked. And someone like Tenzou who is the definition of control and calm shouldn’t ever look like that. “—he just couldn’t breathe. He was choking, Kakashi-sama. And then he—he put his fingers in is mouth and pulled out a – a flower.”

Kakashi looks confused, his eyes widening in obvious shock. “A flower,” Kakashi parrots.

Which gets on Iruka’s nerves and makes him look up at his village leader because he knows, oh how he knows how fucking stupid the words are coming out of his mouth. “A whole one, yes. He – I mean it was a mess. There was blood and things and… but Kakashi-sama, that’s strange isn’t it? Have you ever, in all your experience, heard of such a thing? A jutsu that is possible to inflict such a – a…”

Iruka can’t form words, so he gesticulates instead. He motions at his throat area, at his lungs, helpless and useless, pleadingly looking at the strongest shinobi of Konoha, hoping, begging for some sort of explanation at the horror Tenzou had gone through, is going through right now in the operating theater.

But Kakashi simply lowers himself to the seat beside Iruka, ever so silent. He doesn’t answer Iruka.

And Iruka knows that he shouldn’t push.

Kakashi’s quiet companionship, however, does nothing to put Iruka at ease.

If anything, it leaves him suddenly sick to his stomach, nausea turning dangerously in his gut, forcing Iruka to swallow around his gag reflex and sit incredibly still.

Everything starts to bother him in the wake of Kakashi’s silence.

The smell of disinfectant.

The squeaking sound of rubber soled shoes on the sterile linoleum floors.

The sound of gurney wheels rattling somewhere far down the hall.

The sound of wheelchair breaks squeaking against rubber.

Drawers slamming, pens scratching, nurses whispering, doors clicking open and close, the whisper of voices over the buzz of the fluorescent lighting, the sound of medical equipment rattling on a metal tray, the continuous distant beep of what might be a respirator, or a heart monitor.

They couldn’t get a respirator in him because there’s something obstructing his throat, Sakura had said.

Something is there.

And Iruka wonders if perhaps it means there are more of those flowers in Tenzou’s throat.

“I had to say yes, as his husband, I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t – I can’t.” Iruka chokes suddenly, breaking the silence, panic manifesting in a manner that makes him want to speak, to get the horror pout and past his throat. Iruka bites down on his lower lip, holding it prisoner, staring wide-eyed at the floor. “That was the right thing to do, wasn’t it, Kakashi-sama? I mean, I’m not really his spouse, only in paper. But that wasn’t the wrong decision, right? I don’t know what kind of procedure Sakura is planning on doing. It’s so rushed. She specifically said that there is no time to waste. That they couldn’t get a respirator in him.” It comes out in a rush, words stringed together in panic, peppered with hysteria. “He wasn’t breathing. He was choking. And then that thing came out and I couldn’t – how can I say no to saving his life?”

“Iruka-sensei.” Kakashi reaches out, a gloved hand coming to press over Iruka’s shaking ones that are now white knuckled over his knees. “Don’t worry. You did the right thing agreeing to the procedure as his legal husband. I think Tenzou would have agreed with this call. And I know Tenzou. If anything, he is one of the strongest men I know. He is a fighter. Whatever this is, we’ll take it one step at a time, hmm?” Kakashi’s hand pats Iruka’s shaking palms, before grasping them firmly. “You did right by him.”

Iruka can only nod weakly, as Kakashi pulls his hand away and remain seated there, hoping for some good news.

*

News come in the shape of Sakura stepping out of the operating theater some four hours later, looking haggard and rubbing her hands repeatedly, the sharp smell of sanitizer making Kakashi’s nose wrinkling with the sharp chemical smell. He stands at the same time Iruka stands; Iruka who has remained rigid and chalky faced, an unmoving sentinel on chair except for when Kakashi had brought him tea. That is about the only time Iruka had moved, carefully sipping from his paper cup, uncaring that he’s sitting there in a public space without any shoes on, the front of his shirt marred with blood, his hair down and him looking like a displaced person.

Kakashi can only imagine the horror of what Iruka must have witnessed.

Kakashi himself can’t imagine it.

He’s seen Tenzou injured, has seen him grit his teeth through the pain, grunt with it, exhaling sharply through his nose or sometimes, bloodied teeth as team Ro administers first aid to an almost lethal wound. Kakashi is no stranger to his share of horrors when it comes to a blood bath. He’s not a stranger to seeing Tenzou bedridden, either.

But this is an oddity.

There is something twisted and eerie about coughing out a flower. A whole one at that. Kakashi has never heard of such thing, not in all his experience. He’s never even encountered anyone with a bloodline limit that resulted in anything near this.

He’d freak out too.

Because this – well, this is unnatural, isn’t it?

“He’s stable. Once the anesthesia wears off, we’ll be moving him to a separate room. But…” Sakura tapers off, opening and closing her mouth, the words dying at the tip of her tongue before she shakes her head, a very concerning frown on her face. “I better just show you. Come with me, please…”

Sakura turns, leading them down the hallway to the right, Kakashi walking in silence with his hands in his pocket, Iruka a mere shadow next to him, whatever color that had been on his cheeks now completely gone. They follow Sakura into a room, where they are asked to wait while she disappears and returns with an envelop and hard yellow case with a black biohazard sign.

Sakura places the hard case and folder on the table, taking out what looks like an x-ray scan that she slips into the x-ray film viewer, revealing a pair of hard to decipher lungs.

“This is taichou’s lungs. You see these white parts here?” Sakura points at the blotches of bright white, littered all over both lungs that there’s hardly a spot that isn’t covered by it. “It looks like an infection. Easy to mistake. It’s a lot brighter down here. The right call to make for this would be to prescribe taichou with antibiotics. Which he was. But this isn’t an infection, Kakashi-sensei, Iruka-sensei.”

Sakura’s lips press to a thin line, a thin sheen of perspiration dotting her temples as she unlocks the biohazard hard-case and takes out jars and jars and jars of specimens. She lines them on the table, clear for Kakashi and Iruka to see, as Kakashi stares on in disgust and silent horror at the sight of twirling vines in mossy green, bits of tissue and blood clinging to them, like someone decided to stuff a jar full of green snakes. His stomach plummets to the ground when he looks at another jar, where there, is a large crimson daisy; some of its petals folded, but otherwise remains whole, vibrant, had it not been for the sepia colored fluid in the jar. Two other jars had two different purple flowers, different shapes; one of them, Kakashi actually recognizes to be a lily. A purple lily. Having been to far too many funerals, this is a shape Kakashi can never quiet forget.

Beside him, Iruka lowers himself shakily on the chair by the table, his eyes wide, a hand pressing to his stomach, clenching to a fist.

“This is what we had to take out of taichou’s lungs. All of this,” Sakura says, lowering herself on the chair as well, rubbing her temples. “We had to regenerate a good portion of his lungs because cutting all of it out had been almost impossible. Without tissue regeneration, there is not way taichou would have survived. I’ve never seen anything like this before, Iruka-sensei, Kakashi-sensei. No one in the hospital has.”

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Iruka asks, his voice just a touch higher in pitch. “I mean – this was obstructing his breathing, you said. And that is why he choked last night and – I mean, now that it’s gone, he’s going to be okay, right?”

Kakashi blinks and turns his attention expectantly towards Sakura, hoping for a yes. Some sort of solid confirmation.

What he gets instead, is something he finds he doesn’t quiet like.

“I hope so,” Sakura says, sounding unsure. “You have to understand. This isn’t natural. I have already informed Tsunade-sama. I think it’s best to have her on board for taichou’s case; she has broader experience and may be able to determine a better course of action moving forward. I believe it is best to keep him here and pull him out of active duty while we observe him, just to see if the malignant growth will return. Is that okay with you Iruka-sensei?”

Kakashi looks at Iruka, waiting for him to say yes. But Iruka doesn’t, his mouth hanging open in shock once more, his alarmed look now turning towards Kakashi, as if begging Kakashi for the right answer, the right choice in this kind of situation.

Kakashi can sympathize.

So he reaches out, grasps Iruka by the shoulder and nods encouragingly, even when everything in him has long stilled to a halt at the weight of Sakura’s words, at the fact that Sakura doesn’t have an answer, that she isn’t confident when she almost always is when it comes to medical knowledge. Just not this time.

“O-Okay,” Iruka whispers, and says nothing more when Sakura packs away the specimens, telling them what room Tenzou has been assigned to, informing them that he may be slightly lucid.

*

Tenzou’s room is quite roomy, with four chairs and a fairly large window.

Tenzou lies shirtless on the bed, head turned to the side, hooked on multiple intravenous lines and monitoring equipment, bags of fluid hanging overhead on an intravenous stand, as the heart rate monitor and hiss of the respirator moves in sync beside each other, breaking the stillness and quiet of the room.

There is no color on Tenzou’s pallor, his ashy brown hair almost black against the waxy color of his skin, his face, the corners of his lips blue and swollen, bags lining under his eyes. His hands remain unmoving on top of the covers, the smell of betadine and disinfectant thick around his heavily bandaged chest.

It is a somber mood in the room, as Kakashi approaches the bed to stand on the side that Tenzou’s face is turned to. Almost immediately, Tenzou’s eyelids flicker, dark irises appearing from underneath the slight sliver of an opening. Tenzou is looking at Kakashi, eyebrows twitching ever so slightly to a bit of a frown, something that clearly reads, _what the fuck_ to Kakashi because what the fuck indeed. Kakashi huffs a breath through his nose, shaking his head slowly, looking apologetically at his kouhai, because he can’t give him any answers.

Not when he doesn’t know the reason behind this odd prognosis.

“Iruka is here,” Kakashi says, words soft, as he watches Tenzou’s eyes widen, almost to full alertness, a bit of crimson dusting over his cheeks that makes Kakashi quirk an eyebrow.

Is he blushing?

Tenzou lifts his hand only to flinch and groan around the tube inserted through his throat, his hand coming to rest on the fresh wound on his chest, right over the pressure bandages when Iruka surges forward, reaching out to gently take Tenzou’s hand, holding it still, pushing it back down on the bed.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you shouldn’t be moving. You just went through a long operation,” Iruka says, voice calm, whisper soft, nothing like the mess he had been earlier when he had all but vomited his panic at Kakashi. “It’s okay. I’m right here…”

Kakashi watches with both eyebrows going higher and higher up until it disappears under his forehead protector, as Tenzou listens and relaxes back on the pillow, his fingers curling weakly around Iruka’s rubbing at back of Iruka’s palm. Kakashi notices the field short hand seconds later, and can do nothing but be the world’s largest third wheel when Iruka hushes Tenzou and tells him it’s okay, to not worry about it because apparently, Tenzou is apologizing for making a mess. For leaving a mess. Dinner, apparently. Tenzou is sorry for being an inconvenience.

Honestly, what was Iruka so worried about? Not being Tenzou’s husband? When he’s sitting there, on the edge of Tenzou’s bed, holding his hand and responding to the field shorthand Tenzou is drawing on his palm like they’re the couple of the year.

Rubbing the back of his head and not sure with what to do with himself, bemusedly, Kakashi reaches out and gives Iruka a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, almost sorry that he has to rob Tenzou of his moment with his not-quite-husband-but-is-acting-like-Iruka-really-is-his-husband.

“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” Kakashi’s says, the corner of his lips twitching bemusedly when Iruka gives him a grateful look and nods.

Kakashi wants to tell him he’s doing fine. If anything, Iruka doesn’t need him for anything at all. Iruka’s got this.

*

Iruka goes home to change and leaves a clone behind when Tenzou falls asleep sometime after sunrise.

He spends an hour cleaning up the mess in the kitchen, sanitizing everything, throwing the food away before he washes up. He sends a request for emergency leave to take care of a family member and then proceeds to pack up some comfortable clothes for Tenzou. He grabs Tenzou’s favorite t-shirt, his favorite gray sweatpants, a pair of socks, boxers and a sweater. He packs a pillow and Tenzou’s toiletries, stuffing everything neatly into a duffel bag.

Hesitantly, Iruka’s fingers lingers on the obviously book marked book by Tenzou’s night stand. He grabs it anyway, dropping it into the duffel bag before flicking the lights off.

He packs some of Tenzou’s favorite snacks: roasted walnuts and cherry flavored hibiscus tea bags, some salted crackers that he’s seen Tenzou like to munch on every now and then before he returns to the hospital to replace the clone he had left behind.

What he steps into, is chaos:

Naruto is standing by the window, his foot firmly planted on Sai’s side, nudging him with his boot and aggressively whispering at Sai to not be an ass about the banner Naruto has spent all night making with yellow and green paint. Sai, for the most part, is simply grinning at Naruto, indeed holding the banner in place and also pinching Naruto’s ankle with his gloved hand, the skin red and plump, just as much as boot mark on his exposed abdominals is.

There are balloons tied to Tenzou’s headboard and footboard, a large flower bouquet in a vase along with an interesting stack of chocolates, a stuffed animal holding a kunai and a fruit basket. Iruka sets the duffel bag down gently, peering at Tenzou who remains still on the bed before he stomps forward and flicks at Naruto and Sai’s ears unapologetically.

Sai simply flinches. While Naruto bites his own hand, trying not to scream.

Aggressively, Iruka signs in field short hand, _you should be so ashamed of yourselves! Really? In a hospital? With Yamato-san right there and sleeping? Can’t you see how tired he is? And you’re here arguing about what exactly?_

Naruto signs, _Sai-asshole won’t cut me some tape._

Sai simply shrugs and signs back, _Iruka-san, Naruto decided to exhibit a violent reaction when I told him that we shouldn’t be wasting tape when the banner itself is too heavy. It’s not going to hold._

Naruto’s fist thumps over his palm a little too loudly, which makes Iruka glare at him. Naruto grimaces and then, as quietly as he can, signs, _it’s going to freaking hold, you stupid ass!_

Iruka throws his hands up at ceiling. He motions at the two to put the clearly quiet heavy banner on the ground. Sai obeys, because Sai is capable of logical thinking. Iruka has to stand there and shake his head pointedly at Naruto when Naruto tries to argue. Iruka has to point at the floor _repeatedly_ , until Naruto, while making a hundred unhappy faces, puts the banner down.

 _We can be honest with Yamato-san and just say that the banner is not going to hold – no, Naruto it’s **not** going to hold, it is heavy, let it go, _Iruka signs.

Naruto’s cheeks puffs up before he crosses his arms rather petulantly. _You better tell Yamato-taichou that I made it! We wanted to get this set up before we left for Sand, you know?_

Iruka sighs and motions for them to step out of the room.

Only once they are out in the hallway and Iruka shuts the door firmly does he ask, “You’re going on a mission?”

“Hokage-sama has gotten us clearance with the Kazekage. We’ve been briefed on Yamato-san’s condition. Given that we don’t have any resources to refer to, as most of our old medical records were destroyed if not during Pain’s attack, then the great war, we are to consult with Sand’s archives. Maybe we can find something there,” Sai explains.

“Three pairs of eyes are faster than just Sakura’s. Hopefully, Gaara and his people can provide us with something. We should probably get going, huh?” Naruto says, looking at the wall clock in the hallway. “Sakura should be here any second.”

“I hope you do…” Iruka says, sighing deeply.

“Don’t worry, Iruka-san; I believe Hokage-sama is doing everything he can to gather information. Please take care of Yamato-taichou,” Sai says, smiling.

“Yeah, he looks like shit. Doesn’t look too scary when he’s like that, huh?” Naruto mutters, rubbing the back of his head, just as Sakura rounds the corner at the end of the hallway. “We gotta go. See you in a week, Iruka-sensei!”

“Please be careful on your journey.” Iruka dips his head. “And please, don’t fight. Don’t make Konoha look bad…”

“You heard that, Naruto?” Sai asks.

Iruka has to resist the urge to not bury his face in his hands, watching as Sai and Naruto walk away, as Naruto all but argues back that he does not, in fact, give the village a bad name. Iruka wonders when will Naruto ever realize that Sai is in on the teasing because quite frankly, Naruto doesn’t make it hard.

*

Tenzou has his eyes trained on the ceiling the moment Iruka steps in, an exasperated look upon his puffy and pale face. The expression is so put upon that Iruka cannot stop himself from grinning when their eyes meet, the door clicking shut softly. Iruka pulls a chair and takes a seat beside Tenzou, offering up his hand when Tenzou gestures with his.

 _I’ve been trying to pretend to be asleep in hopes they’d stop. Clearly, that didn’t work,_ Tenzou writes in field shorthand, right there on Iruka’s palm.

“They were trying to be quiet,” Iruka chuckles.

 _If that was trying to be quiet, I’d fail them on their assessment. Whispering aggressively does not constitute as being quiet. Not with Naruto anyway_ , Tenzou responds, his lips twitching around the tube in his mouth.

“I’d support you failing them, Yamato-sensei,” Iruka teases, grinning widely now, almost unabashed, relieved that some of Tenzou’s humor and teasing nature is at least present, given the ordeal he’s been through. “How do you feel?”

 _Restless. I don’t think I need the respirator anymore_ , Tenzou answers, closing his eyes briefly. I hope they take it away. It’s not exactly very comfortable.

“Well, the nurses said that Tsunade-sama should be coming by this morning. Let’s hope she can clear you and get this tube out of the way, hmm? Team seven are currently heading to Sand to look through their medical records. So things are moving along,” Iruka says, trying to sound optimistic.

When you send a team out with one of the village’s best medics to look into a disease, it doesn’t exactly induce a complete vote confidence.

The quiet look on Tenzou’s face shows as much. He movies his head though, signing an _okay_ , on Iruka’s palm before he exhales deeply, closing his eyes, his head sinking into the pillow. There is quiet look of what Iruka can only understand as apprehension all over Tenzou’s face, something that may betray nerves under the seemingly relaxed exterior. Nerves is good, Iruka thinks, because they show that one is at the frontier of their emotional seat. It is a signal of truth of what one values, what one needs to hold close to the chest, and right under it, the will of fire to keep going, no matter how big the obstacle may be in front of you. Nerves is motivation, Iruka hopes, as he clasps his hands on his lap and stares at his fingers, his eyebrows pinching, a tremor going through him because this, whatever it is, they can take it one step at a time, handle things that they can control.

And what Iruka can control, is this:

He makes Tenzou comfortable, fluffing his pillow, opening up the window, reading him some of the cards from his comrades. He can ask Tenzou what he wants to look forward to, what he’d want Iruka to prepare for him once the tube is gone, because Tenzou will need his strength, after all, to fight this of. He can ask Tenzou what else to bring from home, how to make the empty, sterile room a little livelier, a little more homely for Tenzou.

He can unfurl the banner Naruto has painted, and somehow manage to tape it up above the window, vivid and bright, a reminder of Tenzou’s team that though they may be far away, they’re fighting for him to.

These small things, when they add up, they’re a fighting force.

Or so Iruka hopes.

*

The tube does come out, leaving Tenzou gagging on dry air and a raw throat, his fingers rubbing against his chest as he works his throat around the swelling. He takes the offered cup of warm tea from Iruka’s hands, taking a careful sip that gets punctuated with a soft sigh of relief, now that the tube is gone. It hurts to breathe a little, like Tenzou’s healing from broken ribs. But otherwise, it’s like he’s breathing fully for the first time in what feels like forever.

Tenzou didn’t think he can inhale this deep. How long has his breathing been compromised and how did he just fail to notice the difference?

Tsunade tells him that they took out almost a kilo and a half in weight worth of stems, roots and flowers, right out of his trachea, bronchi and the walls of his lungs. That they had to rotate between healers because regenerating parts of his lungs, the finer, smaller bits had been tedious, and that he should be grateful for the Shodaime’s DNA coursing through his blood. Had it not been for that, there is no way he would have made it alive on the operating table.

“We don’t know what it is,” Tsunde says. “There are stories. Legends, rather, of something that sounds like this. But they’re just that. Stories. Any concrete record we may have had, _if_ we had it all, has either been destroyed during Orochimaru’s attack, Pain’s attack or the war itself. But we’re looking. I believe Kakashi has already sent word to the other Kage’s inquiring about the nature of your disease. In the mean time, while we wait for a response, we’re just going to have to run tests.”

Tenzou, Kakashi and Iruka exchange looks, looking at each other with confusion before Tenzou asks, “What kind of tests? I mean, if you don’t know what you’re looking for…”

“ _Everything_ ,” Tsuande sighs, crossing her arms in thoughts. “We’re just going to have run tests on everything. Consider it looking for a needle in a haystack. We will start with the obvious. Pulmonary related diseases. And from there, we’ll branch out. Something has got to stick, hmm?”

“What was the legend?” Iruka asks, something that makes Tenzou blink but also look on in curiosity.

Tsunade sighs slowly, blinking at the floor in thought, almost hesitation. It’s understandable. A professional like herself who trusts science and medical information wouldn’t exactly be the kind to look into lore for a solution. But she answers all the same. “There’s a story I heard as a child, that sometime the era of the first shinobi, there was a hero, who loved his enemy so dearly, that he tried his best to bring forward peace and unity so they can be together. They say the hero is the first Senju. But there were wars, endless battles, bloodshed, politics that he couldn’t be with the person he loved. Heartbroken, he continued his duty, and Senju grew. But they say when he died, he died with a lungful of flowers in his chest. That the things that grew in him, was the result of his love for the enemy. They found his diary later where he named his enemy his love and his dream for a future with no more bloodshed. He died with a chest full of gladiolus. Strength of character, honor, conviction. Three things Senju was known for and continued to be known for. But apparently, as the story goes, those were the characteristics of his true love. Not his wife.”

The quiet in the room is heavy, as all eyes turn to look at Tenzou.

“But it’s just a story,” Tenzou reasons, heat crawling up his cheeks at the idea that he may just be dying of a disease because of something preposterous and lofty such as _love_ of all things.

“It’s just a story,” Tsunade shrugs, though her face doesn’t look like she believes her own words. “My guess? It’s a side effect of grandfather’s DNA. You weren’t born with his DNA, it was fused into you. I am guessing somewhere there, in that genetic make up to make it work, is the answer. We just have to find it. And this is going to take time. It’s best we keep you here, if you haven't’ already been told…”

“Whatever you need to do,” Tenzou says, looking between Tsunade and Kakashi. “I’m ready.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tsunade grins.

*

But the funny thing is about hope. It can take weeks for it to mold into something concrete, something bright. But all it takes is a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

Team seven returns empty handed and disappointed, glum faced before Kakashi but still determined to not give up. As a result, Kakashi allows them to visit the great five country’s capital libraries, going as far as assigning a second team, to look into it as well. It’s a bit of a stretch, sending extra resources out but Kakashi makes it work.

With team seven and team eight going on a witch hunt, that leaves Kakashi hoping for some sort of response from the other Kage.

What comes, however, makes the hope in his chest dull to an ache he refuses to acknowledge.

What comes are apologetic letters, and nothing but stories, much like what Tsunade had told them that one sunny afternoon, a little after the respirator had been taken out of Tenzou. But they say that legends are just stories of old and if there’s one thing in common about all the varying legends Kakashi has lying in front of him, stamped and sealed by other Kages, it’s the fact that their people at some point in time, had narrated them same story.

Some call it the _Hanahaki_ disease. A disease that only manifests in one in every ten thousand, when one’s love goes unrequited.

Some call it the _Munehana_ disease, or heart-flower, as some children like to call it, where it manifests when one rejects their soulmate by not confessing their love to them. That in order to heal from the disease, their _Munehana_ must be _given_ to the person they love. 

Some say that it’s the disease of a soul bound individual, that it manifests only when one meets who their destined to be with; a rare thing, because how many are truly born to exist for someone else.

Some call it a shinobi curse, and that when you get it, it’s a sign of weakness because in the world of shinobi, there is no room for love. That once you get it, it means you are doomed to die because of your inability to control your emotions. Because you dared to love, when love, if anything, are for children and not for warriors who wield destruction in their hands.

They all have one thing in common: it’s a deadly disease.

Kakashi sits there, cradling his head in his hands, staring at this useless information and wondering just how the hell is he even going to tell Tenzou that the Kages he reached out to either came back with nothing or with fairy tales.

Kakashi didn’t want to lose another friend. He didn’t want to put someone under the ground and bid them goodbye, when he’s already put so many under the earth, when he’s constantly just saying good bye to loved ones and comrades.

Desperate and just a little cornered, Kakashi summons the pack and tasks them with going as far as the earth can go, seeking any sort of information, any sort of cure, whether it’s something concrete or just another lore. Kakashi looks at his shinobi roster, strategizing and trying to see where he can allocate resources to search for more information to save Tenzou’s life. Because if anything, Tenzou doesn’t deserve to rot with malignant growth in his chest. He deserves a fighting chance for all the times he’s served the village.

Kakashi issues an order to Tenzou’s team to keep their ears on the ground, that any whisper or talk of _Hanahaki_ or _Munehana_ is to be reported immediately.

And when he is able, weeks later just waiting, he sends another team out to look further up north, past the peaks and land of Snow, at the great lands beyond.

Because when you can’t accept reality, the possibility of its outcome, you start chasing ghosts and legends.

*

The new normal, while waiting is this:

Kakashi would come late in the evening, to find Tenzou watching television and Iruka seated by the bed, working through his grading on his lap. Tenzou would have eaten by then, as does Iruka, because Iruka cares, and expresses that care by bringing packed bento for Tenzou. By the second night, Kakashi too, has a packed bento waiting for him, something he eats in compatible silence next to Tenzou’s bed, opposite Iruka while watching soap reruns on television.

Sometimes, they will be reading, Kakashi with his Icha Icha and Tenzou with something Iruka recommends, the silence accompanied by the soft rustle of pages turning and Iruka’s pen marking his workbooks, quiz papers or writing his lesson plan notes.

It all ends the same.

Iruka would bid Tenzou good night at around eleven, pack up his things and go home, taking with him Tenzou’s dirty clothes to wash and leaving him in Kakashi’s company. Only for Iruka to return the next morning with lunch and breakfast bento, and a bag of freshly laundered clothes for Tenzou to change into.

One day, two weeks into the new ordeal of waiting, of scans, of blood collecting samples, needles and lumbar fluid extraction that leaves Tenzou in a very irritable mood, when Iruka doesn’t have that much grading to do, he produces a few packs of what looks like card games and asks:

“Can I interest you in a game, Tenzou-san, Kakashi-san?” Iruka asks, dimples doting his cheeks, just a little after he puts away the empty bento boxes.

“It’s no fun if there’s nothing at stake,” Kakashi drolls, not bothering to look up from his book.

“And there he goes again,” Tenzou mutters under his breath, reaching out for the card games, looking through them one by one as he adjusts himself to seat cross legged on his bed. “These look like they’d be interesting if we had drinks.”

“Sure, but Tenzou-san, I don’t think we’re allowed to have alcohol here. Especially if Tsunade-sama decides to order another set of tests tomorrow. Alcohol can hinder results, right?” Iruka looks unsure, but a bit put upon.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Kakashi sing-songs.

“You are a bad example to the citizens of this village, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, half torn between chuckle-judging and frowning.

“Who’s gonna know?” Kakashi shuts the book with a firm clap, reaching forward to take one of the cards that had a bonus print on the side. “Never have I ever? Really, Iruka?”

“What? It had a discount at the store!” Iruka argues, crossing his arms around his chest, flushing to the roots of his hair. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“I think I can have some beer,” Tenzou grumbles. “Senpai, no one is going to question the Hokage bringing beer in. Please go get beer.”

“I am not your errand boy, you know?” Kakashi sighs, puts his hands together and conjures up a shadow clone, who promptly disappears in a puff of chakra smoke. “Happy?”

Tenzou rolls his eyes but grins when Iruka starts to laugh and lock the door.

*

Half way through the game and some beer shots later, Kakashi finds himself enjoying this despite the fact that most of them, and Iruka, much to Kakashi’s surprise, has been taking beer shot after beer shot so as to finish the six pack Kakashi had bought. So far, none of them have stopped drinking, a tray placed with a can in the middle of the bed, the three of them huddled around as they pull card after card from the pile, taking turns in reading the contents.

Kakashi isn’t surprised that Tenzou is drinking beer-shot after beer-shot.

He surprised Iruka is.

When Iruka is almost as vanilla, goody-two-shoes, prim and proper, the kind who is all about the rules and regulations, doing what’s right, not a vein of adventure or risk-taking in his body. So far, Iruka has drank ten shots like the rest of them, keeping up with himself and Tenzou, until Kakashi reads:

“Never have I ever had a friend with benefits.”

Iruka doesn’t drink at that and remains perfectly neutral faced when Kakashi and Tenzou tips a beer-shot backwards.

“Let’s see.” Tenzou picks up a card and snorts. “Never have I ever received a serenade.” Iruka groans, and is the only one who reaches forward and tips his beer-shot backwards. “Really?”

“Don’t ask,” Iruka grumps, reaching forward for a card.

“Was it a nice song at least?” Kakashi prompts.

“It was off tune and came with a flash-mob. In the middle of the Academy assembly. It was during my first year of teaching and probably once of the most humiliating moments of my life,” Iruka says, flushing at the memory of it. “Never have I ever been in handcuffs.”

Kakashi hesitates before he reaches forward, turning to look at Tenzou who is also looking at him. Iruka isn’t moving either. Had it been only Tenzou in the room, Kakashi would have easily tipped the drink back and that would be that. But Iruka is present, a relative stranger who may be privy to the private details of Kakashi’s life. Kakashi can lie. Of course he can. Except Tenzou reaches forward, grabbing the glass and tipping it over, before he pointedly looks at Kakashi, expectant, setting his glass down and crossing his arms. Kakashi, who is under no obligation to reveal this part of him, when he and Tenzou has more on one occasion had the other in handcuffs, edging each other, controlling each other’s orgasm, teasing the other before tearing each other apart.

“Ahh, that question is a little risqué, isn’t it?” Kakashi awkwardly murmurs, but all the same reaches forward and tips his drink back. To his surprise, Iruka does too, but says nothing in response. How very interesting. “Okay, this one says…” Kakashi pauses, just as his eyes catches up to what is written on the card, a huff of amusement coming out of his nose. “Never have I ever been pegged.”

The silence in the room is thick when Iruka reaches forward and tips a beer-shot. Except Kakashi and Tenzou makes no movement to reach for a glass, which leaves Iruka staring at the tray, blushing redder by the minute. Tenzou is looking at Iruka in a way that Kakashi has never seen Tenzou look at anybody. It’s awe and respect, peppered with something softer, gentler, something that makes Tenzou’s lips gradually pull back to a slow, devilish grin. Something that Iruka looks over to and looks away immediately, blushing even redder, fussing with refilling his shot glass with what’s left of the beer can and opening another.

Well that’s interesting.

“My, my, Iruka-sensei, won’t wonders ever cease~” Kakashi sing-songs, grinning widely. “How naughty!”

“Shut your mouth, Hokage-sama,” Iruka grumbles, and turns to glare at Tenzou. “And if you’re quite finished laughing at me, it’s your turn. Please read a card.”

Tenzou throws his head back and laughs, a full, unguarded one, something that makes him look younger, a bit of a flush dusting over his cheeks. Kakashi can’t quite recall a time Tenzou has ever been this open, this expressive, as he reaches forward and plucks a card, their game continuing with a question of, never have I ever done a body shot.

To which Iruka drinks alone again.

This time, Kakashi joins in on Tenzou’s laugh, much to Iruka’s chagrin.

Kakashi watches Tenzou the entire night as their game ends and they start up a round of poker. He watches the way Tenzou looks at Iruka, the way he leans just a little bit more towards Iruka’s side, how their hands brush against each other with ease, seemingly comfortable with each other’s touch, how Iruka too, sometimes, would look at Tenzou and smile something soft, something gentle, whether it’s Iruka asking Tenzou if he wants more beer or something else to drink, or just handing him some of their makeshift coins from the farthest end of the bed.

They are drawn to each other, unable to tear away from each other’s orbit.

Kakashi would have to be the world’s biggest blind idiot to say that there’s nothing going on between them.

There has to be.

*

“So are you and Iruka…” Kakashi asks, a question that makes Tenzou pause mid sip of his tea, some hours later, long after Iruka had packed up the cards, his grading and had gone home.

“Me and Iruka what?” Tenzou blinks, confused.

Kakashi shrugs. “Fucking.”

The response comes out firm, certain, leaving no room for argument while Tenzou’s brows slopes down to a frown, his body tightening with sudden tension. “No, senpai. We are not.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean, why not?” Tenzou frowns even more, holding his tea mug with both hands, giving Kakashi his most assessing gaze.

“I mean, _why not_?” Kakashi shrugs. “You two may not be truly married to each other, but you have everyone fooled. The two of you act like you’re together.”

“We do not, senpai. Iruka and I have respect for each other. I think it’s quite sad that because we do respect each other, it’s starting to look like we’re a couple to others,” Tenzou argues.

“It’s not that,” Kakashi sighs deeply, reaching up to rub the back of his head. “Are you attracted to him at all?”

“If you knew him well, you’d know that he is a wonderful person,” Tenzou responds, obviously evading an answer. Very poorly at that.

“I’ll take that as yes. Have you masturbated to him?”

“Senpai!”

“What? It’s a legitimate question! Desire for someone is usually the most primal way—“

“I am not having this conversation with you.”

“Fine,” Kakashi sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Any news from the other kage?” Tenzou asks.

“Nothing useful. Nothing but legends and stories.” Kakashi rubs his temple and narrates the information from the sealed scrolls that had been sent back; by the end of it, Tenzou is a lot quieter. “I’ve passed it on to Tsunade-sama. Again, they’re just stories, Tenzou…”

“I guess…” Tenzou falls quiet, staring at the tea in his cup.

Which Kakashi thinks is the perfect opportunity because sometimes, well, there is truth to legends. Sometimes, some stories are not just stories. It’s a shot in the dark. Kakashi isn’t the type to believe in fairy tales and lore but right now, it’s not like he’s got a lot of lose. Which is the reason why he asks, “So you wouldn’t care at all if I wanted to fuck him, is that it?”

The question makes Tenzou pause a little too long.

“Do you want to, senpai?”

“He _is_ your legal husband. So yes, in a way, consider this me asking you for permission to pursue someone you’re clearly not interested in.” Kakashi punctuates his statement by slouching further into his chair, crossing his ankle over a knee. “I mean, you two are still getting divorced, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Tenzou clears his throat, reaching up to rub his chest. “He’s all yours, senpai. If you want…”

“I do, actually, have you seen his ass?” Kakashi pointedly grins and watches Tenzou take a very controlled sip from his tea. “He’s a _very_ attractive man. Why have I not noticed him before?”

“Maybe because he gave off the impression that he is the kind of man who wants commitment. Because like everyone else, you and I have judged him based on his behavior to the public when clearly, there’s a lot more underneath the underneath, hmm? And that’s something you are attracted to. Probably.” Tenzou says without a beat.

“You know me so well,” Kakashi deadpans.

Tenzou shrugs; the gesture almost seems a little self deprecating. “Don’t worry, senpai. Iruka-san isn’t interested in commitment. If I remember correctly, he never wanted to be married to begin with, if he can help it. Ever. So it’s right up your alley, hmm?”

“Lucky~” Kakashi purposely sing-songs, just to get on Tenzou’s nerves. Which seems to be working because gone is the relaxed line of Tenzou’s shoulders. What sits on the bed is someone who is tightly walled off, drawn inwards, deceptively calm and nonchalant. Tenzou isn’t quite able to meet Kakashi’s gaze, as if he’s shying away from it, like he’s hiding something “I mean, you know, if you want him, I won’t pursue—“

“I don’t,” Tenzou curtly cuts him off.

“Then you’re either an idiot or outright insane to not see what a good thing Iruka just might be for you,” Kakashi sighs, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. “But hey, if you say there’s nothing, then, well I believe you. You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

“No senpai, I would never…”

*

The truth is…

The truth is Tenzou doesn’t want Kakashi to pursue Iruka. The truth is, Tenzou lied.

He lied because there is truth in what Kakashi’s words. There is truth in the fact that Iruka is the one good thing in the mess that is his current predicament. And sad truth about that, between himself and Kakashi, Tenzou thinks that Kakashi needs more of whatever good there is Iruka can give than he himself ever will.

Between the two of them, Kakashi can use some sort of stability, some sort of strong foothold, a solid anchor, something that Iruka is so good at being, that it had taken his senpai asking him if he can fuck his not-really-husband to realize just how deep that good had seeped past the first layer of Tenzou’s skin.

When for the past two weeks, seeing Iruka step into the room and say, _good afternoon, Tenzou-san_ has been the one thing Tenzou has been looking forward to all day. When the past two weeks, sitting in Iruka’s company, just like all the other nights, has been the thing that keeps Tenzou buoyed in this sea of uncertainty. When he has confessed just fifteen days later, in a fit of frustration to Iruka, and said, “I wish one of these tests would come back positive already. This uncertainty is really challenging.”

And all Iruka could do at the time is reach forward, press a warm hand to the curve of Tenzou’s shoulder and looked at him with optimism and a strength that Tenzou knows he’s leeching of off. “Soon, Tenzou-san,” Iruka had said. “We’ll know something for sure. And when we do, you’re going to crush it. I know it must be hard, the waiting, but I know you’re stronger than this.”

Tenzou had taken that faith and buried it somewhere in his chest, past the growing tightness in his throat that had alarmed him at the time, but cleared when he swallowed, just as his stomach swoops inwards in the wake of Iruka’s warm gaze and encouraging smile.

That faith that he is strong is what makes him endure the painful procedure of having spinal tap done. Or when he has to undergo several biopsies, continuously prodded and examined, scanned and going in mad circles around the hospital to no avail.

But faith can only keep Tenzou so strong when information from other countries have returned in the shape of stories. When it’s all about true love this or true love that, when Tenzou himself is the last person on earth to speak on anything about the topic of love. When he has spent his childhood growing up emptying the softest parts of him on the ground, burying as deep as it would go until he carries nothing in him – no past, no present, no future. What would a weapon like him know of love?

What is fucking love, anyway?

*

Love, apparently, is a quiet emotion that in time, becomes a part of the air you need to breathe, tinged in tangy orange and spicy cinnamon. Love, maybe, on some days, feels like it’s not there. But any form of removal, or the threat of a removal, the emotions begin to choke.

*

Tenzou finds it hard to breathe when he excuses himself in the middle of his meal, leaving Kakashi who is so, so obviously flirting with Iruka in the sense that, he is mercilessly teasing the poor teacher, in favor of washing his hands where he had gotten some of the teriyaki glaze on his fingers.

The bathroom door shuts firmly, with Tenzou turning the tap on, pumping soap into his fingers and vigorously washing his hands. He only realizes he’s being rough when he catches sight of himself in the mirror, panting hard, breathing harshly, a whistling noise somewhere in his lungs as he tries to calm himself in this sudden storm of emotions, this sudden onslaught of suffocation that makes him grab the edge of the sink, staring at himself with irritation, with _hate_ at the fact that he’s annoyed that Kakashi is quite literally undressing Iruka with his eyes, in a way that has left Iruka shifting his seat, uncomfortable, disturbed through out their still ongoing dinner.

That the fact the stare has made Iruka blush makes Tenzou grit his teeth, chin dipping down, hating himself, just absolutely hating himself for acting this way because who the fuck is he to deny Kakashi something he may want?

Who the fuck is he to resist that, to fight for Iruka when Iruka isn’t even his to begin with?

Tenzou brings a hand up to his chest, jawline pulled taut as he clears throat, coughs a few times to clear what feels like a growing tickle at the back of his throat. Only to have it feel worse, like he didn’t quite swallow his food right, like there’s a dangling piece of soba that hasn’t gone all the way down.

Flinching and feeling a little bit disgusted, Tenzou sucks in a breath from the back of his throat, making a hideous snorting, gagging noise as phlegm and lunch fluid bubbles somewhere at the back of his throat. He spits into the sink, hoping to feel better, except he sees the swirl of crimson on the white porcelain.

He doesn’t feel better.

There’s still something stuck at the back of his throat.

That makes Tenzou’s knees week, as he shakily holds onto the porcelain sink, lungs heaving in quick succinct patters, like Tenzou’s been doused under water for too long and now this is his chance to final get some air into his lungs. Tenzou stares at himself in the mirror, at the slight crimson stain around the corners of his lips, and without thinking twice, he reaches forward with two of his fingers, his eyes scrunching as he feels for the back of his throat, until there, right in the far left corner when the tickling sensation is felt, he grabs something thing, almost string like.

And _pulls_.

And keeps on pulling, gagging as he drags out a long string that looks like roots, an entire web of it fanning as he chokes and stares at himself wide-eyed in the mirror, under the fluorescent glow of the overhead light, mouth wide open, teeth flashing as involuntary tears trickles down his cheeks, his fingers wrapped around roots that turns to stems and more tangled roots and oh gods – _oh gods_! _Oh gods what is this – what the fuck is this!_

Tenzou makes a strangled noise that sounds like a suffocated scream, as he pulls desperately, yanking that thing out of him, pull, pull, pull, stems and roots and what looks like a flower that slops wetly, noisily on to the sink, smattering red all over white, as he coughs and coughs and continues gagging out against the sink before the door flings open with a bang and Iruka is there, by his side, cradling by the shoulder and gasping at the sight of a sink full of tangled roots that look like a million centipedes coiling bloodily in the sink.

Tenzou takes one look at the smudged pile of lavender in the sink, strength suddenly leaving his knees as he falls and manages to turn towards the toilet, heaving out whatever he had eaten of his dinner as Kakashi barks loudly in his room at the nurses to get Tsunade, while Iruka kneels beside him and continues to rub circles on his back.

Tenzou wretches until there’s nothing left in him but air, pressing his head against his fist and pushing Iruka away weakly, tiredly, before he turns around and outright shouts at him and Kakashi to just get out.

And when they don’t move, when they stand there frozen, somehow that just fuels an anger in him that had no other way to come out except, _“I said get the fuck out!”_

Watching Kakashi place a hand on Iruka’s shoulder, pulling him away, somehow makes the rawness in Tenzou’s throat and chest pinch just that much harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Munehana - something I farted out that means chest-flower.   
> Purple lily - First love  
> Lavender - Devotion  
> Red daisy - beauty unknown to the beholder
> 
> Ugh, like I'm just glad this chapter is done okay. This was hard to write uffff fuck filler chapters! Ugh!


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta’d.
> 
> Tissue alert maybe.

The healing takes forever, the seal structure taking up the entire room that is a lot bigger than Kakashi’s own office. From floor to ceiling, there are swirls and countless medical seals holding the regeneration circle in place, and right there, in its center, is Tenzou. Above him are chakra bubbles, numerous of them, like party balloons suspended above his chest where the fluid is being drained out of the holes that had been previously cut into his chest, a four point incision, at the top and bottom of his sternum and just around the center of each pectoral muscle. And in the midst of countless shoots that can only be pieces of rooted flowers in his chest are ripped out, one by one, piece by piece, as Tenzou’s jaw grinds, and grinds, and grinds until he can’t take it anymore and he screams. 

He screams and screams like pieces of him are being cut out, the softest parts of him because gods, oh gods, does it hurt. It hurts like a forced good bye, like something that’s his, and only his is being taken away from him. It burns from the inside, scorches in his h chest like hot burning coals have been placed in his lungs, within its tender walls, as he heaves breath after breath, trying to keep his hands still by his side, his hands balled in to fists, white knuckled with the effort. But he watches, with something like horror making his eyes widen, making his lips tremble as right there, from the middle of the small incision on his chest, a whole, vividly purple and crimson stained petal lily is pulled out him, stem first, the flower opening up to the air as it is sucked into the vacuumed bubble of chakra above him, flying suspended in a halo of green.

The scream takes on a tinge of hysteria, as Tenzou presses his hands to his chest, covering the holes, wanting this madness to stop except there are medics surging forward, holding him down, pinning his wrists and ankles to the ground as he thrashes and resists the urge to be pinned down voluntarily even though every bit of his training is commanding his body to stay still, to just be patient and endure this, however temporary because this is the solution. This is a necessary procedure in order for him to be effective, to resume his duty and servitude.

And in the midst of his weakness, as he is held down, Tsunade’s barking orders to shackle him floating somewhere in the chaos of it all, Tenzou can only watch as another purple lily is pulled out of him. And another, and another, an entire fucking bouquet of it, big ones, small ones, some of it torn petals, some of it still buds, yet to bloom in his chest.

In the midst of it, he cries, choking out at the ceiling, panic, disgust, worry and confusion warring against the other, swirling into wave of nausea that makes him pull against the iron, chakra suppressing shackles on his chest, as he arches up on the floor and strains against the bonds keeping him a prisoner, rendering him useless and vulnerable, scream after scream tearing out his lips, lost to the seal painted ceiling above him.

It goes on like this for minutes, or maybe it’s hours, until the last of it, an entire weaved string of lavender gets pulled out of all four incisions in his chest, where somewhere in the back of his mind, the objective part of him gets choked by desperation because what if — just what if this is like all those stories?

What if devotion and first love lies within his chest, along with beauty that’s unknown to its beholder?

What if a part of those stories, however stupid, however illogical and outright foolish is true?

Tenzou sags down on the floor, just as the green glow of chakra around the seals fades and nausea, disgust and horror makes him turn to his side and gag, gossamer strands of saliva, blood and stomach acid spilling on the sterile linoleum floor.

(What if?)

*

Iruka pulls his shaking hands down from his ears when the scream stops.

He sits there, against the wall of the treatment room listening to the silence that only gets broken by the soft,muffled noise of Tenzou vomiting beyond the shut doors. The red light doesn’t go off, the procedure isn’t done. Iruka helplessly stares at its crimson, vivid glow, waiting patiently, counting the seconds in his head as he listens to muffled noise of rushed footsteps. 

The door suddenly swings open, two white clothed medics rushing out, tugging masks down and disappearing around the hallway, only to return with a gurney.

Iruka is on his feet, looking at Kakashi in alarm, his heart in his throat, as he catches a glimpse of the chaos in there and freezes, whatever color on his face dropping to collect somewhere at his face.

The room is completely destroyed, seals cracked and disturbed by sharp jagged lines of Mokuton that protrudes from the ground. There is an entire web of it, grotesque in its weave, sinister, like claws reaching up for the ceiling, wanting to tear the entire structure down.

Kakashi is staring wide eyed too, his shock muted under the mask as whatever glimpse they get is obstructed by the swinging doors sliding shut, the automatic lock clicking into lace.

The red glow still doesn’t disappear.

Not immediately anyway.

Not until a good thirty minutes later, where it goes off and Tsunade finally steps out, looking a little tired but otherwise fine.

Behind her, Tenzou follows, lying still, half limp and delirious on the gurney, where he is wheeled away to another room, the top of his bare chest covered in gauze, the whites of his eyes mostly visible, as his pupils rolls back and forth at the back of his skull, incorrigible noises leaving his slack jaw.

“He’ll be fine,” Tsunade says, sighing as she pumps sanitizer from the wall dispenser into her hands. “But whatever it is that’s making these things grow in him? We extracted almost the same quantity as the first round. And that’s only roughly two weeks post the first operation.”

Iruka doesn’t know what to say. Words fail him as he weakly finds himself stumbling back, leaning against the wall and staring mutely at Tsunade.

“And tissue regeneration? Did it work successfully?” Kakashi asks, his voice thick.

“For now,” Tsunade sighs, rotating her neck before brushing her bangs back in a gesture of apprehension.

“What does that mean?” Iruka murmurs. 

“It means that whatever that’s causing this, it may just come back. Generally, repetitive tissue regeneration can only work to a certain point. Tenzou is a little special in the sense that he carries grandfather’s DNA. That makes him more susceptible to withstanding long term damage to his own DNA. At some point, the body will reject cellular regeneration. And that is what I’m afraid of.” 

“But it’s only been two times,” Iruka weakly reasons. “Surely that’s—“

“You’re forgetting all the other times Tenzou has been injured and ever had to go cellular regeneration. It’s not just these two times, Iruka. The countless times before this counts too.” Tsunade frowns, motioning them to follow her towards a small private room. “Any news from team seven?” 

“Not yet. Naruto sent word that they’ve gone through Fire’s capital library, along with its subsidiaries. They have just arrived in Water. Team eight is currently covering Wind,” Kakashi says, his voice eerily calm.

“Then we have to look into other preventive measures, until an answer can be found. The growth keeps returning and we cannot risk further operations at this time. We are going to have to put Tenzou into a state of cryostatsis, just so that we can buy him time. That way, we can ensure the growth doesn’t continue. A containment, if you will. Until the teams sent out can return with some answers.” Tsunade says, looking quite unhappy. “Iruka, you are his next of kin—“

“Tsunade-sama—“

“I know of your situation, but that doesn’t excuse you from the law. This is a burden you will have to carry unless, of course, you find a way 

“This is hardly the time and place to discuss such a matter when his life may be on the line!” Iruka fires back, flushing in anger, heat flooding his cheeks as he slams his hand on the table. 

“I’m afraid it is, Iruka,” Kakashi argues back, calm, collected, so even, something darkening in his gaze. “Unless you and Tenzou sign that divorce papers, whatever decision that Tenzou cannot make because he is incapacitated completely falls on you. In the eyes of the law, you are his husband. I suggest you actually start acting like it.”

“Hokage-sama!” Iruka looks on in horror, nausea turning in his stomach.

“Don’t mistake your presence here because you are needed. Your presence here is a privilege borne out of your and Tenzou’s reckless mistake. You aren’t required here, when you have served no purpose whatsoever. So either act like his husband and take responsibility, or go speak to Tenzou and put forward an early petition to break off your marriage. The Hokage doesn’t meddle in the personal business of his soldiers. But given the circumstances, I can and am willing to support the both of you, as Hokage, in this regard,” Kakashi finishes. 

Iruka stands there, dressed down and muted, unable to quite stop himself from glaring at his leader before he turns to Tsunade and bows. “May I speak with him?”

Tsunade nods. “He may be lucid but tired.”

Iruka bows before the both of them, turns and leaves the room.

*

Tenzou’s body feels heavy, as he lies there, oxygen mask around his nose misting with each breath he takes. It feels a little like he’s suspended in water, hanging on the precipice between lucidity and unconsciousness. He is staring at the banner on the wall, just above his window, at the painted on words that reads, Fight, Yamato-Taichou, in just a touch crooked hiragana and katakana, the lettering not even straight, now that he’s looking at it closely.

The door opens and closes, the clicking of the long soft, lost when Tenzou exhales into the oxygen mask. 

“Tenzou-san?” Iruka’s voice calls out, tentative, soft, almost afraid.

Tenzou closes his eyes, inhaling once deeply, as far as his chest can expand, which isn’t saying much given what he’s just gone through. The breath doesn’t even seem that full. All the same, he slowly turns his head, grimacing with the motion, reaching up with shaking, pale fingers to tug the mask off his face.

Iruka carefully pulls a chair up, taking a seat beside Tenzou’s bedside, hands on his knees as he looks on at Tenzou in a quiet, assessing gaze. 

“Do I look that bad?” Tenzou asks, breaking the pregnant silence between them, his lips curling up in a lopsided, bemused smirk. 

“A little...” Iruka honestly answers. “How do you feel?”

Tired, Tenzou wants to say, but instead he shrugs a shoulder. “I’ve been through much, much worse Iruka-san. Wipe that worry off your face.”

That makes Iruka twitch, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks away, staring at the blood pressure and heart rate monitor. “I am sorry if it annoys you, or gets on your nerves, Tenzou-san. But I am worried. And as your husband—“

“We’re not—“

“Well, in the eyes of the law, Tenzou-san, I am. So please, deal with it and accept the fact that I am sitting here, watching you, someone I do sincerely care about because we have spent the past three months or so living together and I’ve gotten to know you. I can’t fucking help it, okay?” Iruka says, and then goes very still, just as everything in Tenzou seems to spin to a slow stop. “I am sorry. I don’t mean to—“

“Must be stressful for you. I’m sorry we can’t speed up the process of our divorce. I did offer a way to end it and you weren’t willing—“

“The Hokage is willing to support the petition of our divorce, given the circumstances. He has made that clear should you and I agree,” Iruka cuts him off, making Tenzou blink.

“Well why the fuck is he willing to do that now?” Tenzou all but nearly snaps.

“I don’t know, Tenzou-san. You seem to know him quite well, you fucking tell me.” Iruka crosses his arms, the words coming out hot and angry. 

“I didn’t ask for this.” Tenzou points it out.

“Well neither did I.” Iruka brings his hands up to his face, scrubbing it down before keeping it buried. 

“Do you want to take it? Senpai’s offer...” Tenzou asks, addressing the elephant in the room, because frankly that would make things easier won’t it.

If they sign the divorce papers now and somehow get their marriage annulled, Iruka wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. He wouldn’t have to go back and forth, carrying his work with him, catering to Tenzou’s needs like a dedicated husband. It would mean no more shared meals, a permanent goodbye to Iruka’s cooking, his company, his smile. It would mean not looking forward to Iruka’s presence any longer because Iruka would be free to spend all his time however he wants to. He wouldn’t have to care for an invalid that is crippled by an unknown disease. Iruka wouldn’t have to do his laundry, or help him slip into warm socks for the night. Iruka wouldn’t have to tuck him into bed, making sure he’s comfortable, that there is water by his hospital night stand, that Tenzou is continuously entertained by all kinds of reading material and rented television series to play during the day. 

Getting their divorce finalized once and for all would mean a permanent goodbye to their shared space, their belongings returned to its previous studio and one bedroom apartments. It would mean not coming home to sometimes finding Iruka fast asleep on the kitchen island, bent over an impossible amount of grading during midterms, or sometimes, finding Iruka fast asleep on his sofa, the book he had been reading open on his chest, face tucked into his shoulder as he breathes through having passed out mid-reading.

It would mean Iruka would be free of Tenzou, completely and utterly, for Kakashi to pursue and have his way. To ask Iruka out for drinks, or a warm meal, to maybe trace the line of his jaw that is softened by the fall of long, silky hair. It would mean Kakashi is free to kiss Iruka, to trace lips over the race of Iruka’s pulse, because why would Iruka ever say no to someone like Kakashi, when Kakashi is as strong as they come, who loves deeply, deeper than Tenzou ever can, assuming he is even capable in the first place. Kakashi won’t have to ask him for permission to want Iruka, or do anything with Iruka. 

Ending this now would be just that: a goodbye.

“No,” Iruka says.

And that makes Tenzou look up at him, at the small quiet look on Iruka’s face, something he’s never quite seen before, the shock of that response making the monitor beside him beep, his blood pressure rising as his heart thunders in his chest. Irritably and suddenly so very vulnerable, Tenzou yanks the node attached to his chest, the machine beeping insistently a few times before it goes quiet, flat lining. Iruka reaches forward, feeling around for the machine’s back and switches it off all together. 

“You don’t look so sure, Iruka-san. This is a good opportunity. You’d be free—“

“I don’t want to leave you,” Iruka snaps. “Why is everyone telling me to just walk away when I don’t want to!”

“Everyone—“

“I don’t mind being you husband, Tenzou-san. I never have. You’re responsible, polite and patient, understanding and so very—“ Iruka stops talking all of sudden, his jaw clacking shut sharply, pulled taut like he’s grinding his teeth, trying to stop the slew of truth that seems to flow past his lips, leaving Tenzou staring like Iruka is nothing more than a mirage. “I cannot, in good conscience just abandon you like this.”

“Are you saying you enjoy this? Being my husband?” Tenzou asks, incredulity making his tone go an octave higher, as he huffs a sound of amusement. The amusement dissolves to a choked laugh. “Iruka, have you gone mad?”

Iruka turns then, glaring at Tenzou, his cheeks flushed as he grips his knees, knuckles going bone white. “What if I do?” 

Tenzou’s laugh tapers off to something else, something strangled, as his heart jackhammers all of a sudden in his chest, something tender and raw on the inside suddenly pinching, harder and harder, until his hand comes up to press against the tender incisions on his pec, where right there, it seems like his lungs are collapsing, because there is no way he’s hearing this right. Iruka has got to be fucking with him, surely.

“Iruka, I am in no shape or mood, nor do I have the patience, quite frankly, to deal with a conversation that’s going in circles—“

“What if I enjoy being your husband?” Iruka asks, shrugging a little, biting his lower lip. “Is it selfish of me? Indulgent, even, given the circumstances, because I’m aware of how—“

“You can’t be fucking serious—“ Tenzou laughs. 

“What if I am?” Iruka snaps, bringing down his fists on his knees. “Can you please stop laughing?” 

“Iruka, I’m a dead man on borrowed time, if they don’t find a solution to this. Why would you ever care for a man who is on borrowed time—“

“I just do!” Iruka argues, not at all making a lick of sense to Tenzou. 

“That makes no sense to me, Iruka-san. None, whatsoever; why would you?” 

“I have my damn reasons!” Iruka thump a fist on his knee again. 

Tenzou loses it.

Something in him, with his patience already running quite thin, just crumbles.

“Well you’re going to have to do a lot better than that, Iruka. I frankly, cannot see anything objective about your reasoning. Us ending this once and for all will give you your freedom, to date, to see other people. To be with better people!” Tenzou snaps, irritation getting the best of him because this is, if anything, a fucking stupid discussion. “So either give me something that’s justified, something concrete, or honestly, get the fuck out of my room and tell Kakashi to come in so we can put an end to this!”

“I think I am in love with you,” Iruka responds, softly, turning his gaze away sharply, blinking rapidly at the wall as a film of salt seem to gather around the corners of his eyes, Tenzou’s entire thinking process coming to a rapid, skidding halt. “And it’s selfish, and indulgent, and I know how cruel it is to drop this upon you now, how its not even a justifiable reason, as you say, but that’s my reason for not wanting to abandon you. I can’t. I won’t. So this decision on considering the Hokage’s offer, I am leaving that to you to decide. If — if you want to avail his support in this matter, to quicken this so that you never have to see me again, so that we may part ways amicably, and gods, do I know that this is not the best time to do this, that this is the absolute worst time to be even having this conversation, but here we fucking are...”

Tenzou doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

To be told that he is loved, that he is cared for, that someone like Umino Iruka who is hands down, possibly the embodiment of everything that is good and worth fighting for, bleeding for, keeping Konoha safe — Tenzou isn’t quite sure what to do with it. 

He hates that he’s lying on his back, hates that he is rendered vulnerable like, practically defenseless because of his disease, that he can’t even sit up without feeling like his entire body is made of lead. He bites the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes and counting slowly, calmly, from one to ten, in his head, his hands balling into tight fists before he pushes himself up to a seating position, fighting Iruka off when Iruka surges forward to help him, his intravenous line tangling, one of it, the one that’s attach to the back of his elbow coming free all of sudden.

“Stop, stop, please stop, you’re hurting yourself—“ Iruka says, hysteria and something like fear in his voice when Tenzou grabs him by the wrist and yanks him forward, their noses almost touching, Iruka catching his full weight on either side of Tenzou’s body, body twisted awkwardly as they remain like that, frozen in time, staring into each other’s eyes.

And there, in Iruka’s gaze, is something warm, something achingly tender that it makes the breath catch in Tenzou’s throat. It’s a look he’s been looking at for a while now, between their shared dinners, like Iruka is seeing him for the first time. Now that he thinks about it, it’s like the first time they shared dinner together, delicious miso-glazed salmon, vegetables and steamed rice, when they spoke of Iruka’s student, Ryu, the boy who just tries so hard, and who had shamelessly asked for help in his test paper. Here and now, in this moment that is suddenly frozen, Tenzou swears he’s falling, or floating, as he looks at Iruka like he hasn’t been watching him at all, all this time, all these weeks and months. Here, this close, Tenzou drowns in a sea of dark amber, where gold shines in its depths, ever so warm, gleaming beautifully as Iruka’s breath seem to stutter to a sudden halt, the tiers of his lower lip trembling for just a moment, as short as a span of a heartbeat.

This close, Tenzou can smell it, the hair oil he’s seen Iruka rub into the tips of his hair, when he stands by open door of their bathroom, in the evenings after his grading, after the clean up, after dinner, fresh from a shower and humming a pop song that is more often than not, an ear worm, running a wide tooth comb through silken locks. This close Tenzou’s lungs are filled with the sweet smell of orange and cinnamon, so warm, so homey — it’s the smell of their home, Tenzou realizes, as he blinks and looks down at Iruka’s lips, because it is the first thing he gets a whiff of, every time he steps into their shared apartment. That warm smell, grounding and almost like a brush of soft fingers, is as good as hearing, welcome home. 

It’s been like that, Tenzou supposes. Right from the beginning.

Their apartment has started to become a home to him because Iruka is in it.

Coming home to Iruka hasn’t been a terrible thing at all.

Quite the contrary. 

Tenzou looks up at Iruka’s eyes, watches Iruka turn his gaze away, when the question rolls past his tongue. “Why? I’m nothing.” 

“You’re not nothing to me,” Iruka whispers, barely above a whisper before he pulls back, looking troubled, like he wants to be anywhere but here. Tenzou watches Iruka stand there, running a hand over the fall of his bangs, awkwardly rubbing an arm as he lowers himself back down on the chair. “And now that all this is happening, I realize just how... how you’re not nothing to me and...”

Iruka shrugs, his lips curling a little self deprecatingly, his chest heaving in a deep breath as he buries his face in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees, shaking his head while his face remains buried. Like this, Iruka looks so defeated, so tired, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. Gone is the optimist, the strong faith in the good things, the hope, even. Gone is the Iruka that would smile, that would encourage and in its place is this quiet, tired and lonely man who lives to serve the village in his own shinobi way. When Iruka deserves to be loved too, deserves to be cared for, to be held in all manners, be it day or night, to be kissed and worshipped, to be protected and kept safe from all the vicious things the world is truly made of.

Tenzou would gladly face the turmoil and endless wars if it means keeping Iruka safe. If it means his face would never have to look like what it does now, when Iruka is a man put on this earth for good and not despair.

Tenzou swallows, pushing back against the pillows, realizing where his thoughts are going. Or rather, what path it’s been taking now that he’s really looking at it. From the get go, he’s acknowledged how attractive Iruka is. Right from the start, he’s known that there is a high possibility that he’s physically attracted to Iruka.

He’d fuck Iruka in a heartbeat.

There is no question about that.

But when Iruka says you’re not nothing to me, when Tenzou know he is nothing, that does something to a man. It makes you question all that you are, all that you’ve been told. It makes you dare to wonder if you can have a present, a future, when you don’t have much of a foundation of a past to stand on. When you have no name, no true identity beyond the code name that comes in the shape of a porcelain cat mask and the foreign DNA that courses through your veins. When you breathe to be nothing but a sharp weapon, your knees only strong because it’s rooted deep in your loyalty to the village. When you are strong to begin with because they made sure you are strong, made sure that you’d function for the sole purpose of ensuring that Konoha is protected, that your stewardship and service is to nothing else but the village, her core, her meaning, her people. When even years later, you are still serving, you are still protecting — the mission, these days, is just a little different from the usual genocide and toppling of sovereign bodies.

How can someone even see him as nothing else but a weapon?

Tenzou swallows, turning his gaze away for a moment, his chest pinching again, his lungs swelling like it’s too big to sit within the prison of his ribs. Something in him hurts in a way that burns so good, like there are hands prying past the cage of his ribs, pressing against the softest parts of him, the parts that should have been dead, should have been non-existent, and yet here it is, drumming loudly against his sternum, making him think of lofty possibilities and ask questions like, what if?

Just what if?

“Please think about Hokage-sama’s offer. Whatever you choose, Tenzou-san, I will support it a hundred percent,” Iruka says, bringing his hands down and smiling a little sadly, a little guiltily; it’s not nicest thing to look at, but it doesn’t marr or smidge the beauty of Iruka’s face. “My reasons are selfish. And for that, it is solely my responsibility to handle...”

Tenzou is quiet for the longest time, unsure of what to respond to that despite having enough time to gather his thoughts. He’s not gathering it as quick as he should, it seems. “Why tell me this now?”

Iruka looks at him for a long time, his lips pressing to a thin line before he ducks his head and exhales a soft, strangled sob, looking away and brushing the ocean that has finally broken through damn. Iruka huffs a smile at the wall, brushing the sign of his grief, his heartache, before he holding his chin up and turning to face Tenzou like he hasn’t just done that, erase the sign of him coming apart.

“Because you asked and you deserve the truth,” Iruka says, chin held up, the tremor in his voice wrestled to something calm, something collected. “I want this marriage, however foolish it may sound. The past few months has been the most comfortable, if not the happiest I’ve been in a long while, because they were with you. I share a home with you. I came home to you...” Iruka shrugs again, smiling a little bit wider, shaking his head once more in a heinous self deprecating manner. “It takes two to want a relationship to work. And right now, from where I’m standing, we’re on opposite ends of that spectrum. That being said, Tenzou-san, you are going to have ask Hokage-sama to initiate the paperwork. I am pretty sure if he is to be involved, it can come about being issued faster. Because you are not going to get that from me. It’s not the most ideal time to be discussing this, with cryostasis on the table to hold off the malignant growth...” 

“I’ve been told...” Tenzou closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the headboard, turning his gaze to the ceiling. “Iruka, you can’t love a dying man. A frozen man, even...”

“But I do,” Iruka whispers. “And I have no regrets.”

Tenzou looks at Iruka at that, his gaze snapping at the man who cares too much for his own good. He watches Iruka stand, setting the chair back against the wall, clearing up the room and packing up Tenzou’s clothes like they didn’t just have the conversation they just did. He pushes a window open, to let some air it, to ward off the sudden suffocating stuffiness of the room and turns on the television, navigating through the channels until he finds the one Tenzou always tunes into at this time of the evening. Iruka moves like a man who knows Tenzou, all of his current needs, effortlessly, without so much more than a flick of his wrist. 

Regret slams into Tenzou, making his breath hitch in his throat as he coughs a little bit, shaking his head when Iruka looks at him in alarm, gesticulating with his hand that he’s fine. He doesn’t feel anything coming up. Not yet, anyway. 

With the regret comes a wave of frustration as he picks up the oxygen ask and presses it against his mouth and nose, taking long and very deep inhalations, his lungs expanding rather painfully, tenderly under his ribs, making a sharp ache throb against his sides and the middle of his back. 

“I better get going. I’ll send a nurse in to ix your IV-line for you.” Iruka turns as his throat bobs once, picking up his satchel from the corner of the room and slinging it over a shoulder, along with Tenzou’s laundry bag.

“If senpai is outside, can you please send him in?” Tenzou says from under the mask, watching as the color drains from Iruka’s face, just as parts of him shatters at the sight of it.

“Of course…” Iruka says, nodding slowly. “Good night, Tenzou-san…”

And without another word, Iruka leaves, keeping his gaze ahead of him.

*

Kakashi is quieter than usual when he comes in, taking his usual perch on the chair by the window, his closed Icha Icha Tactics in hand as he stretches his legs, crossing them at the ankle. “Tsunade-sama thinks it’s best not to wait. Tomorrow, they will begin prepping you for cryostasis. You should be in a state of suspended animation by the end of the week.”

Tenzou can’t seem to make himself care, as he stares at the ceiling, breathing through the oxygen mask, an insistent throbbing headache refusing to ebb. He needs to get his affairs in order, needs to make sure that everything is set in its proper place because there’s not telling how long he’s going to be in cryostasis. The irony isn’t lost on Tenzou. He had come into this world in state of suspended animation too, before Danzou had taken him in. It’s a little poetic that now, at the end of his life it seems, he returns to his home — a round glass cell with concocted complex chemicals that is as cold as Snow’s frozen tundra.

Tenzou pulls the mask away, pushing the button on the side panel to adjust the bed to a more upright sitting position, just before he turns to look at Kakashi and sighs. “I am going to have to ask you to do some of my paperwork, senpai. I’m going to take you up on your offer to support the annulment of my marriage.”

Kakashi doesn’t react outwardly to that that, but his jawline shifts, tightening ever slightly so, something he tucks away from Tenzou’s gaze, or tries to anyway, by adjusting himself on the seat, pulling his legs back and leaning forward, elbows propped on the knees. “You sure about that?” 

“I’m sure,” Tenzou answers, nodding slowly. “It’s the right thing to do. If you can have it done and ready before I go under, I would be grateful to you.” 

“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t serious. So you don’t have to worry in that regard. I’ll get the paperwork started first thing in the morning,” Kakashi acknowledges, nodding his head once before going completely still. “But. I have to ask. Are you sure about this? You and Iruka are still on the same page?”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Tenzou murmurs, Iruka’s words ringing in the back of his head like a warm, secret whisper. I am in love with you, Iruka says, lips curling to a small smile, the ghost of his lips pressing against Tenzou’s ear.

“How so?” Kakashi prompts.

Kakashi asking a lot of questions makes Tenzou’s lips twists into a bit of a snarl. “Honestly, senpai, why would I ever have anyone tethered to me when I’m about to go into cryostasis for the unforeseeable future? I am not that cruel nor am I that selfish. I would have thought you’d be happy with this, given your interest in pursuing Iruka. This way, Iruka is a free man.”

Kakashi looks taken aback at that, before he ducks his head and _snorts_. “My gods, Tenzou…”

“ _What_ ?” Tenzou snaps,irritated, angry, so very bitter. “What _now_?”

“I don’t care about Iruka. I care about you,” Kakashi says, easy, soft, honest. “It hasn’t exactly been a walk in the park, watching you go through all this so unnecessarily. When our own most renowned medic isn’t even able to determine the cause of your disease. The only answers we got are legends. Fucking fairytales, Tenzou. So I thought, well, it’s a shot in the dark, but maybe if I could get you to fight for what you want, to admit that a part of you cares for your husband, just as much as he does if not more, then maybe this would all stop.”

That makes Tenzou _stare_.

That makes Tenzou’s jaw slack in surprise, just a tiny bit, as he looks on at the hunched shoulders, the line of tension that pulls Kakashi’s back taut, makes his jaw under the mask sharp. Kakashi runs his fingers through his hair, shaking his head, like he’s reprimanding himself. How desperate has Kakashi been that he’d look to fairytales as a solution? That he’d even dare to hope it can solve their problems when Kakash isn’t the kind of man to carry hope in him?

Something about that makes Tenzou’s shudder, his eyes burning and throat closing up, as he stares at Kakashi, when for past twenty four hours, the idea that Kakashi would stake a claim on the man that Tenzou holds dear to his chest had made him bitter. 

“Senpai…”

“I’ve said goodbye to good friends too many times. I don’t want to do that with you. So you’ll have to forgive me for this, Tenzou. I can’t just stand here and do _nothing_ ,” Kakashi whispers, not looking up from his hands that are laced together, rubbing knuckles. “Everyone is fighting for you, you know? We’re all rooting for you. Even Naruto, Sakura and Sai. And no one is going to stop. I just wanted you to be a little stronger. To at least not squander your last few moments with your husband. I’ve seen the two of you together. I’ve seen the way you look at him…”

Tenzou’s is shaking, his hands trembling on the blankets as his blood pressure start to spike, the numbers going from the calm nineties to the hundreds, as his heart rate starts to speed up because — because the truth is, he’s terrified.

He’s so scared of all this.

He doesn’t know what to do with all this, his strength, his experience, his field knowledge all rendered useless in the wake of this disease.

When everyone is doing there best to support him, to help him, to find a solution for him.

But a part of Tenzou has known, deep down, the fatalistic, cold calculating weapon, that this disease has made him ineffective. That until it’s completely healed, he has nothing to contribute to the betterment and safeguarding of the village. That he is, in essence, an ineffective commander, a poor ANBU agent, a useless, bedridden possibly obsolete shinobi. That even as a man, he is a burden to those around him, being mostly bed ridden, aching all over, unable to even take a full breath. He can’t move about without wheezing for his fucking life, can’t even make it to the fucking bathroom without it feeling like he’s run from Konoha to Mist in a rush. He is weak, he is tired, and he is _useless_.

That doesn’t mean he wants to die. 

That he wants to be taken down like this.

Of course not.

(I am in love with you.)

So he sits there, his breath coming out in rapid puffs, as he stares at his friend, his villlage leader and in a fit of desperation, he admits, “He loves me…” 

“I know,” Kakashi answers, nodding slowly, smiling a little bit under his mask. “I know, Tenzou. I’ve seen the way he looks at you…”

“I don’t want to die, senpai,” Tenzou admits, swallowing, past the tightness in his throat as his vision blurs. “I don’t want to…”

Kakashi stands, crossing the distance between them and sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbing Tenzou by shoulder like a comrade, a brother, pressing gloved hands to his neck and lifting Tenzou’s face up. “Hey, we’re not going to stop looking for an answer. _I_ will never stop. I promise you that. That’s why I’m asking you again. Are you sure you want to do this? Are you sure you want to end this marriage?”

Tenzou shakes his head slowly, because no. No, he doesn’t want to. Not anymore, anyway. He hasn’t even thought about it after sharing meals with Iruka and special breakfasts every Saturday has become a thing in their home. But he says, “I have to. It’s the right thing to do. Iruka deserves to be a free man. Free from his obligation to me…”

Kakashi shakes his head but says nothing, wrapping his arms around Tenzou instead, tucking his face against his shoulder, where Tenzou grits his teeth and just for a moment, after an entire lifetime of being so strong, he allows himself to be weak.

*

Before lunch time the next day, Kakashi appears and hands Tenzou an envelope and a pen.

Tenzou takes it out, his hands shaking from the chemicals they’ve been pumping his body with in preparation for cryostasis, his normally straight hiragana strokes coming out crooked, unsteady, just like the rest of him as he stares at the document before him.

“Iruka will have to mail it and it’ll be processed within forty eight hours. The courts are aware of my involvement,” Kakashi assures.

“Thank you, senpai…” Tenzou says, tucking the document back into the envelope and setting aside. “I owe you. For this, for everything. I am grateful…”

Kakashi nods slowly, his expression hooded. “I don’t think you’re doing the right thing, Tenzou.”

“He deserves to be with people who can make him happy, senpai. Not a man locked up in your village basement in a freezing tank.” Tenzou swallows. “This is is the right thing. I’ve written my will this morning. Can you please make sure it’s filed?” 

Kakashi stares at the outreached folded paper, before he takes it and tucks it into his robe pocket. “I will…”

“Senpai, if anything happens to me—“

“Tenzou..."

“Please keep Iruka safe.” Tenzou bows his head, low and deep, bending at the waist from where he is sitting. “I leave him in your care…"

Kakashi doesn’t make a sound but the door slamming sharply is all Tenzou needs to know just how bothered Kakashi is with the indirect goodbye Tenzou has pretty much given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I.... i don’t know. Except that I cried writing this chapter.


	8. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.
> 
> Chapter shorter than others but eh, I promise the next one will be longer. Possible tissue alert?

By the next afternoon, Tenzou received an envelope from Kakashi that contains his divorce document. The only thing left to be done is for both him and Iruka to sign the bottom and have the envelope dropped at the family court reception for expedited processing; there would be no questions asks, because the Hokage’s seal is stamped on each page and on the envelope.

But giving it to Iruka proves to be a bigger challenge.

It gets harder when Iruka doesn’t change his behavior, doesn’t at all stop with his kindness, continuing in his routine ever since this all started. Tenzou knows he’s on a race against time, as one day segues into another and all he can do is helplessly succumb to Iruka’s warmth over take out bowls of piping hot ramen, cups of tea and tea cakes that Iruka made himself, sometimes playing card games with Team seven and Kakashi, as they snack on chips and citron tea. Tenzou is powerless as he chooses to watch Iruka instead on his last few waking hours to walk amongst the living, chemicals thick and swirling in his body as the growth in his lungs yet again, begins to manifest. Just two days ago, he had to endure another operation, the new incisions on his chest not even completely healed yet.

He doesn’t give the envelope three days before.

Nor two days before.

Not even the night before when Iruka stumbles in late, stammering apologies and setting down his over stuffed satchel by the floor, plopping heavily on the chair, undoing his forehead protector like he always does when he comes home.

The fact that Iruka does this now (has been doing this for a long while, shedding bits of his outer armor, that is, in Tenzou’s company since he’s been hospitalized) is telling.

That Tenzou is his home.

That his love for Tenzou, if anything, is true.

You only come home to those you love, don’t you?

And Tenzou finds himself wondering, how the growing throb in his chest seems to be non existent, how instead, there is warmth and something achingly tender swelling in his cold, calculating heart if one can even call it a heart. He realizes, now, with the envelope tucked under his pillow, hidden and completely forgotten, how this right here, Iruka telling him about his day, rolling his eyes as he exasperatedly narrates just why he is late tonight, because of a last minute teacher absence that he had to cover for the evening classes for some of the older kids. That this, here, telling one’s loved one about their day must be what it means to have a family.

Tenzou’s day has always bloomed rather beautifully ever since he’s started spending them in Iruka’s orbit. His mornings started with Iruka and his evenings ended with Iruka, whether it’s the gesture of a freshly brewed coffee in carafe or an awaiting home cooked meal served and arranged on a tray. And I don’t know anything else except this is what I want, the path that I wish I could travel on for longer, because the truth is, I have no idea where we’re going, of what we could even be except that it isn’t fair to want this when I know my end, or my pause is inevitable. I can’t drag you through this long wait with me. I can’t ask you to do that for me, even though I want to, gods, how I fucking want to.

(A part of me wishes that maybe, you’d wait for me…)

“I didn’t even get to cook! I had to leave so early and this isn’t right,” Iruka says with a disapproving frown as he prepares fresh tea in the corner of the room where Sakura has conveniently left an electric kettle for them to use. “I swear I have better time management than this. And to think that this is your last dinner too! How about I go buy your favorite? From Haru’s? Would that be okay for tonight, Tenzou-san?”

Tenzou has to struggle to breathe through his suddenly very dry mouth and tight throat, as he blinks rapidly for a few moments, dropping his gaze on his lap from where he’s seated cross legged on the bed, his mouth opening to respond automatically, that yes, yes, his favorite from Haru’s is fine. Of course, don’t worry about not being able to cook for me. Don’t worry about me.

Iruka hands Tenzou a fresh cup, their fingers brushing, eliciting goosebumps all over Tenzou’s arm, making the fine hairs rise.

“I’ll be back in hopefully thirty minutes. It shouldn’t be that crowded at this time, I don’t think,” Iruka says, a pensive look on his face as he wrinkles his nose in a way that makes Tenzou stare.

He commits this moment to his memory, along with that cute gesture that is so ingrained in Iruka that Iruka probably doesn’t realize he does it at all.

It sends a spike of warmth in Tenzou’s chest, trailing all the way down to his stomach, as he sits there mutely and helplessly, nodding at Iruka, unable to quite form intelligent words, as the logical part of himself starts to war with heart. That he should give the envelope now, spare Iruka the trip and queue to Haru’s, get his important thing out, over and done with. That this is more important, that Iruka’s freedom means more to Tenzou than any other selfish thing that makes him suddenly flinch, just as Iruka takes his leave to rush three blocks away from the hospital. That Tenzou is left there, doubled over, some tea sloshing over the rim of his cup as presses his hands to his chest that is suddenly _burning_ – not again, gods, not again.

The tea cup falls, shattering to several pieces as Tenzou’s heart monitor and pulse rate begins to rise.

He didn’t want to go through another operation.

He didn’t want to lie there, in the operating theater, painted in seals to have parts of him ripped out of him.

Tenzou reaches forward, pulling the power socket to the insistently beeping monitor free from the wall jack, bathing the room in completely silence that is only disturbed by his heavy breathing, and the creak of metal under his tight fist as he rides out the pain, trying to bear it down, trying to find a moment of respite in between the waves of flaming hot agony in his chest that now radiates all the way down the length of his back as well.

Tenzou doesn’t know how long he remains like that, doubled over, a detergent jingle singing in the background from the switched on television. He doesn’t know how long he stares at the tea stained white sheets, or if it’s the resulting flash of bright lights of torment and anguirhs behind his eyelids.

Tenzou doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know as he finds himself staring at his chest, and for a moment, he thinks he sees something _move_ under his skin.

Like a throb of a pulse.

Everything in him spins to a halt as he shakes his head, tries to clear his thoughts and stare at his chest again, fingers splayed over the water proof dressing on the four-point still healing incision under his shirt.

Something moves again.

And it tears a sob from his lips, unbidden and _raw_ , teeth clamping down hard until he tastes copper, bitter and vile at the tip of his tongue, shaking fingers pulling his shirt off in a jerk and reaching forward to pry the waterproof adhesive dressing on one of the incisions where the throbbing seems to be at it’s most painful, like someone has wedged a piece of hot iron ore right in the middle of the incision.

Tenzou rips the dressing off, exposing raised, soft, tender flesh that is held together by a butter fly clip. He pries that off too, nails digging uncaringly into the tender incision as there, once more, something _shifts_ under the surface of his skin, as Tenzou blinks through the involuntary tears gathering around the corners of his eyes.

Because fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he thinks, as it pulses again, as he watches the incision gape and stretch, ever so slowly as he sinks his finger into the hole, deep down, going as far as it would go as he grabs his shirt and stuffs a wadded up piece of the sleeve into his mouth.

Tenzou’s scream is muffled as he _pushes_ his finger in, stretching the incision on his chest to the size of his index finger, feeling around inside his chest, past muscle, sinew and bone for what the fuck, whatever the fuck that’s moving in him, gods – _oh gods_!

Until he brushes against it, something hard, something sharp, something that pricks his finger tip and makes him yank his finger out cleanly out of his open wound, his hand pressing up against the hole in his chest, as blood oozes out of his chest and the wadded up sleeve falls from his mouth, gossamer strands of saliva dripping down to between his legs as he _pants_. Pants and stares at his chest move, like something is alive in him, movie, pulsing – _oh gods_!

Anger flares in Tenzou like no other, as he grabs the sleeve of his shirt once more, shoves it in his mouth and sticks his index finger and middle finger into the bleeding wound, prying flesh open, tearing it wider, his hands now covered in crimson as he grabs for what’s moving, that spiny thing that is now pushing against the tender and thinned, stretched skin over the wound, the skin almost transparent now, as Tenzou pulls, and pulls, his breath coming out in choked gasps he frees the bent and curved end of what looks like a spiny stem.

A stem that Tenzou cries at the sight of, as he wraps his fist around the small protruding piece from his chest, _pulling_ it out, watching it stretch longer and longer, and longer – oh gods, _oh gods!_

Something clatters to the ground, a slosh and crash, a soft muffled thud before someone _screams_.

Iruka is standing before him, hands covering his mouth in horror, in shock, in grief as Tenzou continues to pull roots out of him, pieces of it, twisting grotesquely around his lap, pieces of blood soaked rose buds coming out and making Tenzou weep like a child because he can’t understand this anymore, he can justify this anymore. He can’t wrap his head around this anymore.

The door opens with a bang when nurses and medics rush in, only to be stopped when Tenzou looks up, an anger so hot making him yell out like an animal, to stay way, to back off, to _get away from here, stop looking at me!_

And Iruka can only duck in time as jacket spines of wood erupts from under and around Tenzou’s bed, shooting forward to build a walled off fortress that separates the bed, Iruka and rest of the medics responding to a possible code blue. Iruka turns to look over his shoulder, lowering his kunai as a grotesque weave of arabesque towers from floor to ceiling, the head medic beyond barking orders to get Tsunade as soon as possible.

Iruka turns to look at the bed, sheathing his kunai, completely unharmed, not a scratch on him because the spines of jagged wood erupting from the ground had grown around Iruka, away from him, not at all brushing past him.

It’s what makes Iruka step forward, feet crunching over Styrofoam containers, the smell of blood, soup and freshly prepared food making his stomach turn as he reaches for Tenzou’s knees, and _begs_ him to, “Stop – please stop! Stop pulling, stop – Tenzou, _stop_!”

But Tenzou doesn’t stop, his fingers desperate as he pieces of flesh keeps being carved out him while he unravels the growth with in. That is, until Tenzou scrunches his eyes, grits his teeth, white enamel flashing as _pulls_ something out with a sick, slick, deafening squelch.

In his hand, he holds a large, red rose, its petals whole, just curled around the edges, wet and slick with blood and pieces of his lung tissue sticking to it. Tenzou’s lips trembles as he the shirt drops down from his mouth, something Iruka immediately grabs, wads up again and presses it against the gaping hole on Tenzou’s chest, pushing him down on the bed, applying pressure and trying to minimize the bleeding.

The shirt is soaked red in seconds, as Iruka blinks through the gathering tears around the corner of his eyes, shaking his head, begging to Tenzou to stay with him, to not close his eyes, _do not close your eyes, you hear me? Look at me – just look at me, Tenzou!_

And Tenzou is looking at him, at how beautiful Iruka is, how he is, if anything the starlight to Tenzou’s black heavens. That the beauty of his heart, so evident now as Iruka tries to administer first aid, as he calls out to the medics to get find someone to take this wall down, to help them, oh gods, _please help! –_ Iruka’s heart, in all its kindness, enduring and never ending patience is the center of Tenzou’s world.

Tenzou doesn’t have much hope left for himself, to be rid of this disease.

To have more time to be with Iruka.

Just a little longer.

“Promise me you’ll be happy,” Tenzou chokes, blood trickling down the sides of his lips, as he gathers the last of his strength to wrap around the large red rose in his palm, holding it by the stem, lifting it and pressing it to Iruka’s chest.

“Don’t talk – please, please, don’t talk, just look at me, help is coming, Tsunade is coming—“

“Promise me, _please_ ,” Tenzou begs, giving his love – his true love – to Iruka, every part of him that only ever wishes for Iruka to be truly, and ever so happy.

Iruka’s hand comes up to his chest, taking the offered flower, the blood soaked rose staining his vest, blood and tissue sticking to the fabric as Iruka shakes his head and dips his head, sobs. “I’ll promise you anything just don’t – Tenzou? Tenzou, wait, wait, look at me, please look at me, no, no, no! Open your eyes, Tenzou!”

Tenzou tries to listen, tries to obey, not wanting to cause Iruka any more grief, as his hand gets wrapped around Iruka’s fingers, the bloodied rose between them.

But in the end, it would seem that he is just doomed to disappoint Iruka.

*

A loud resounding crash and flash of purple fills the room, as Iruka tries, gods, how he tries, to stop the bleeding, pushing green chakra into Tenzou’s chest that does nothing to make the bleeding stop, his hand holding Tenzou’s and the rose shaking, shaking, shaking.

Tsunade pulls him back, replacing his chakra with the brighter almost blinding light of her own chakra, severing their hold on each other as medics swarm into the created opening, equipment and seals filling room as they begin to operate on the spot.

Iruka is yanked back, almost bodily _moved_ from the scene by a pair of strong arms, Kakashi guiding him out the hall and pushing him against the wall, a gloved hand slapping Iruka gently, but firmly across the cheek.

“He wouldn’t stop—“ Iruka murmurs, staring at the rose in his hands. “Kakashi-sama, he wouldn’t stop! The mokuton – it just – he just – I don’t know – he wouldn’t listen! Why wouldn’t he listen? Does he want to die that badly?”

The question snaps out of Iruka, tearing past his lips so viciously, so callously, the brunt of it that isn’t at all meant for Kakashi but at any deity that would listen, that would curse a good man like Tenzou with this unkind disease. Iruka’s hands are shaking, as he stares at the rose in his hand, wrapping his hands around it.

“Did he give this to you?” Kakashi says, soft and not at all unkind, his voice a low timber in the chaos going on around them, more medics piling into Tenzou’s room. When Iruka nods, Kakashi hands squeezes almost painfully around Iruka’s shoulder. “One of the stories that came back to us from the Kages is that those plagued with _Munehana_ must give what grows inside them to the one they care about the most. Don’t you see, Iruka? He’s desperate…”

Iruka shakes his head, his lower lip trembling, at the words that are tumbling out of Kakashi’s mouth, at what they could possibly all mean.

(It isn’t fair!)

“Desperate enough to believe a story.” Kakashi pauses, his voice going softer. “He doesn’t want to die.”

Something leaves Iruka’s mouth, small and weak, something that makes him lean heavily against the wall, cradling the bloodied rose to his chest as he keeps shaking his head at Kakashi, apologizing for things he’s not even sure of. He doesn’t realize how he stands there, being only held up by Kakashi’s hold, or how he is drawn inwards, in arms that are meant to comfort, but only serves as a reminder of just what Iruka is about to lose.

*

They operate on Tenzou for _hours_.

At Kakashi’s insistent words, Iruka had gone home to change, the rose taken from him by a medic to be sent to the laboratory.

When he returns to the hospital, Kakashi is where Iruka had left him, waiting outside Tenzou’s door, reading his book quietly. They stand there for what seems like forever, in terse silence until Kakashi decides to take Iruka to the cafeteria, insisting he eats something, drink something. This, Iruka does, quietly, without much resistance, tasting ash in his mouth that only gets washed down by far too bitter tea.

They don’t return to where they’re operating on Tenzou.

Instead, they remain there, the only two bodies in the desolate cafeteria, cold forgotten tea between them, as Iruka counts the seconds in his head.

It’s how Tsunade finds them, her hand rubbing at a stitch between her neck and shoulder, hours past midnight and looking just a touch haggard.

“He’ll be fine,” Tsunade sighs, dropping down heavily on the seat. “What was he thinking, I will never know. We’re proceeding tomorrow as scheduled. This can’t wait any longer. Another operation and we’re walking on dangerous territory. It took longer than I would like to regrow his tissues this time around…”

Iruka goes still, staring at the table as everything in him plummets.

“Given the circumstances, he wouldn’t want to delay this any further, I don’t think,” Kakashi murmurs, turning to look at Iruka. “Right, Iruka?”

“I suppose so,” Iruka responds, weakly, helplessly and feeling no less wretched for it. “He hasn’t said anything that would change that to me. Not recently.”

“Then I’ll be seeing tomorrow in ward eight. Kakashi, you’ll bring Iruka with you?” Tsunade says.

“Of course.” Kakashi nods, turning to look at Iruka. “I’ll meet you at the reception?”

Iruka opens his mouth to agree but then clamps it shut immediately, biting on his lower lip. “I – Tsunade-sama, would it be safe to spend a little while with Tenzou-san? I mean,

“No, no, you can, of course. I have to warn you though; he’s a little out of it. We had to administer some strong medication to counter act the infection we found,” Tsunade sighs, shaking her head. “But yes, you can spend time with him. Absolutely.”

“Thank you…” Iruka murmurs, bowing his head. “I am grateful. Kakashi-sama, I will see you in the morning.”

*

But morning comes and Iruka finds himself sitting up from where he had his head pillowed in his arm on the side of Tenzou’s bed, cool fingers gently brushing over his elbow, startling Iruka awake to an upright position where he is greeted by Tenzou looking at him beyond the oxygen mask around his mouth and nose.

“Tenzou-san!” Iruka blubbers, scrubbing sleep off his eyes, swallowing and clearing his throat as he quickly takes Tenzou’s bruised and now quite swollen hand from all the times they had to replace the cannula at the back of his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired, but okay,” Tenzou murmurs, his eyelids fluttering shut for a moment before they open up again, just a sliver. “You should have slept at home. That can’t be comfortable.”

“I’m fine,” Iruka says, dismissing that statement all together. “What time is it?”

“A few minutes to eight.” Tenzou tips his chin at the wall clock. “I didn’t want to wake you…”

Iruka glances at the clock, realizing how late in the day it is, how they only have a few minutes before Tsunade and her team comes in to escort Tenzou to his new room. “You should have. They’re going to be here any minute.”

“Yes,” Tenzou agrees, his fingers wrapping around Iruka’s tightly, almost a vice.

They sit there, looking at each other, Iruka sinking deeper into the dark, hollowing pits of desperation, trying to think of any solution, anything that can make Tenzou stop looking at him like this, like he’s looking at Iruka for the last time, a silent goodbye. Iruka trembles as he wracks his mind with any creative away to bring a fair and more just response to this madness, this truly unfair situation because how cruel can the gods be to bestow so much joy upon two people, so much love in their chest that it grows into bloodied beautiful things only to push them towards a state far worse than death? How unfair they must be, to do this to a good man, an honest man, a hardworking and earnest man, when Tenzou has done nothing but serve and give to the best of his ability, all his life.

How unfair.

How cruel.

“Iruka, there’s something—“

The door opens, and Tsunade steps in, her team with her, as they give their greetings of the day, severing Tenzou and Iruka’s suspended moment. By the door, Kakashi lingers, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe, patient and quiet, his gaze hooded by the shadow of his messily held back hair.

Iruka steps back, joining Kakashi by the door, as he watches with nothing short of desperation and hopelessness as they strip Tenzou free from his intravenous lines. They help him on a wheel chair as soon as he knots the robe that was left in the room the night before, wheeling him out of the room and down many hallways, across wards and countless shut doors until they reach a large elevator at the corner of the building.

There, Iruka stands quietly, next to the Hokage, his chest drumming in his chest as the doors open to two lower floors below surface level, right under the hospital where they once more walk through several frosted glass doors until they stop somewhere in the middle. Tsunade’s chakra signature undoes the seal on the door, the glass sliding door parting wide open where there in the middle of the room, is a team already running diagnostics and checking chemical levels of the large, half circle holding tank, filled almost to the brim in greenish tinged sepia colored chemical.

The smell of it all leaves Iruka’s stomach turning, thick and potent, like ozone and bleach mixing into one, robbing his pallor of color as he turns to watch Tenzou stand from the wheel chair and weakly make his way by the examination table in the corner, where he is stripped out of his favorite sweatpants and helped into a pear of black, spandex shorts. Iruka watches, wanting nothing more than to succumb to weak knees and weep, as they inject Tenzou with vial after vial of all sort of things, explaining to him what each of them are for, what they are meant to do, one to relax him, one to boost his immunity just in case, one to slow his heart rate down as they keep calling out numbers on the screen at Tsunade, and finally, the last one to induce his coman.

“Can you give us a minute?” Tenzou asks, making the medic pause in picking up the final vial to be injected. “Please, Tsunade-sama, Kakashi-senpai…”

Tsunade turns to look at Iruka and Kakashi, who both have remained unmoving sentinels by the door and nods.

There is rapid movement of medics clearing the space, giving Tenzou a wide berth around the examination table, as Iruka approaches him in a daze, coming to stand before where Tenzou is sitting.

“My sweatpants…” Tenzou says, gesturing the folded haphazardly pants over the arm of the wheelchair.

Iruka grabs it, his hands shaking the entire time and wordlessly hands it to Tenzou. Tenzou who feels arouind for the pockets and pulls out a folded envelope, something that is a little wrinkled around the sides, a little crumpled, like it’s been held for too long, pondered upon for too long, turned this way and that.

Tenzou hands it over to Iruka, quiet and tired, so very tired, as Iruka stares at it for a few seconds before he opens it. The divorce document shakes in Iruka’s fingers, as Tenzou watches his lower lip tremble wretchedly, just as the softest parts of Tenzou comes apart, when Iruka shakes his head, huffing a smile at the wall, blinking at the wall, as tears wells up in his eyes and drip down the curve of his cheeks. Something Iruka wipes away with the back of his hands as he folds the paper

“I’ve signed it,” Tenzou says, softly, tiredly, the ache in his chest growing bigger with each passing second. “Not because I wanted to—“

“Then why did you?” Iruka hisses, shoving the stapled document into its envelope.

“—because it isn’t fair.” Tenzou finally says, swallowing and reaching forward to cup his hand over Iruka’s cheek, catching tears between his fingers. “It isn’t right to keep you tied to a dead man. It isn’t right to force you into adultery when you don’t want that either just because I’ll be gone for a long time. It isn’t fair, Iruka. Not to you.”

Iruka’s lips tremble again, as they slack open to form the words of Tenzou’s

“You have to forget me. Leave me. You have to move forward. Adopt children. Raise a family. Raise good children to be like you, find someone who can make you happy—“

“No. No, no, please, _no_ —“

Tenzou cups both hands on Iruka’s face, pressing their foreheads together. “Yes,” Tenzou whispers, even when everything in him is screaming no. “You deserve the world, Umino Iruka. And I wish I could give it to you but I can’t. Not like this. But I can give you your freedom.”

“ _Tenzou—“_

“Promise me you’ll try,” Tenzou begs, his world blurring as he whispers the words. “You’ll fall in love again, with the right person, a stronger person, a _better_ person—“

“You can’t make me promise something I can’t keep!” Iruka chokes, shaking his head, over and over again before wrapping his arms around Tenzou in a fierce and desperate embrace, burying his face in Tenzou’s neck, sobbing as he holds onto Tenzou.

Tenzou swallows the rest of his goodbye, unable to quiet form more words, the quake of Iruka’s warm, wonderful body against his making him inhale long and deep, as he leeches off that wonderful warmth for the last time, keeping his eyes closed, as a calm serenity takes a hold of him, the chemicals he had been injected with finally kicking in.

He meets Kakashi’s gaze from across the room, nodding at him wordlessly.

Kakashi who steps forward and pries Iruka out of Tenzou’s arms, making an ache go through Tenzou like no other. Iruka who just takes one shaky step after another, not daring to look away from Tenzou, divorce papers crumpled in his hand as the medics swarm forward and continue their work, injecting Tenzou with the final vial before escorting him up to the the top the tank, seating him around the edge, keeping a firm hold of him.

In his last moments, Tenzou feels the cold wash over him as his head lolls backwards, suddenly heavy, nodes attached to the length of his spine and across his chest before he is lowered into the tank filled with freezing cold chemicals.

In his last moments, the last thing he sees is Iruka staring after him, stilling clinging to him, refusing to let go.

(It isn't lost to you, the irony, that you return to the place where you were born from, nothing but glass and chemicals between you and world. It isn't lost on you, how your existence, should you even survive this, lies on the balance between your body accepting his disease or evolving around it. Ironic, isn't it? How weapons returns to their birth home?)

And something about that devotion, that refusal to abandon his side, makes Tenzou exhale one last time before he allows the dark to fully consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeellllllllllllllllllll, there we go. He's in the freezer guys. Done and done! Oh well!

**Author's Note:**

> It's downhill from here people.


End file.
